


Reunited

by MsBinns, tenpointstohufflepuff (MsBinns)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-26
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-16 10:20:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 42,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5824804
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsBinns/pseuds/MsBinns, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MsBinns/pseuds/tenpointstohufflepuff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short series of vignettes about all the times Ron and Hermione reunite following the events of my story Australia.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. June

6 June 98

It's only been seven days. Seven days of being home. Seven days remembering everything he loved about the Burrow in summertime. Seven days without Hermione.

He passes his days much like he'd passed most summer days. Except he could hardly recall a time of his life when he'd been so carefree. He, Harry and Ginny go for a fly every day. They play Quidditch in the orchard. He works with his dad in the garage. He's even learning to help his mum in the kitchen.

And he writes to Hermione.

He writes to her more than he can remember writing to her in the last seven years combined. They're simple letters mostly. He tells her about his day, how his mum is getting along and how Harry's interview with Kingsley went. He tries to keep them light. He doesn't tell her about the time his mum randomly started crying while cutting up carrots or how his dad went to visit Fred's grave every morning.

He'd sent Hermes out three days ago with a letter after both Pig and Erroll had failed to make the return trip from Henley. Still he continued to write her every day, each day hoping one of the owls would appear with a reply. For nearly an entire year he'd grown used to having her beside him every day. She was there tending the fire when he woke up and the last thing his eyes usually rested on before bed. They'd shared a bed, had shared everything together retrieving her parents in Australia, but now they're home. He knows she has to let her family heal. So he just continues to write her and wait patiently for a letter, his heart jumping every time he hears a rap on the window or green flames appear in the fireplace.

They all come at once. There are seven total. One for every day they've been apart. He tears open the most recent one, ignoring Hermes who just clucks his beak and sails out the window in a huff.

Dear Ron,

His heart swoops just seeing her neat handwriting on the page

I'm sorry it's taken me so long to send these out. Sometimes I do wish owl post was faster. I'm keeping Pig at my house. How fast did you tell him to fly? It's been nearly six days and he can barely even get up to go hunt. Erroll needed a day to recover as well so I sent Hermes back as he's the only one who seemed capable of making the trip. Maybe we could start using Muggle post in addition to owls. I wanted to know if it would be okay to come and visit this weekend, but I suppose by the time you get this it will already be the weekend. I'll come round Sunday and if you're not at home I'll come back.

Ron grins as he read over the line. Sunday. Collapsing back onto his bed, he searches for the earliest letter and begins to read from the start.

He'd see her Sunday.

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7 June 98

He feels like it's been months since he's seen her and he desperately hopes when she arrives that afternoon that his entire family will be miraculously absent. While he's written to her and he's read over her seven letters about a hundred times now, it feels strange not to have had a conversation with her in a week. He misses talking to her and has a hard time believing he used to go weeks in the summer without seeing her. He thinks about last summer and cringes at how callous he'd been to all she was going through when she'd been preparing all last summer to say goodbye to her parents. Now she's trying to figure out how to bring them back into her life and he wants to know how it's going. Her letters have revealed nothing except how much she misses him and what she has done with her days.

He's antsy awaiting her arrival and kills times throwing a Quaffle around with George. The closer it draws to five o'clock the more of his family he knows will trickle in for Sunday dinner. Percy arrives first. Then Bill and Fleur.

When her soft pop sounds in the drive, his whole family is already gathered out in the garden.

"Oh! Hermione!" His mum races over and embraces her before Ron even can. "Ron told us you were coming. It's so wonderful to see you! How are you? How are your mum and dad? Did you tell them I want them over for dinner?"

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley."

She utters the phrase countless times while they have tea out in the garden with his entire family. He's impatient. She only has three hours to spend before returning to Henley. When he proposes a walk, Ginny and Harry join them. When he suggests going upstairs, Charlie arrives. At the end of the day they have twenty-seven glorious minutes to themselves, but they make the most of each minute.

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11 June 98

The more dependent on it he gets, the more frustrated he gets with owl post. No matter how fast Pig flies, and he knows the little owl tries, he still goes days without hearing from her. It's over one-hundred thirty miles to Henley and while Pig can make it in a day, he needs at least a day to recover before bringing back her reply. It leads to frustrating and halted conversation that is disjointed and unfinished. He wishes he could Apparate straight to Henley to see her, but, despite having done so on a regular basis the last year, he still cannot officially do so without a license. He's upstairs in his room writing her when his mum hollers to him that she is at the door. He thinks she's having a laugh, teasing him as his family tends to do about how desperately he runs to check the mail every day. Then he hears her voice.

Thundering down the stairs, parchment still in hand, he finds her standing by the back door exchanging pleasantries with his mum.

"What're you doing here?" he inquires breathlessly.

"I just...thought I'd see if you were in," she replies simply.

"I was just writing you," he smiles sheepishly, holding up the half-finished letter. His mum beams for some reason at the comment and excuses herself in an obvious attempt to give them privacy.

Hermione tells him she only has a few hours while her parents are out so they take a simple walk around the orchard. They go and visit Fred and she squeezes his hand as he tells her how George and his dad still come out to visit every day. They finally settle beneath an apple tree. When he asks if her parents know she's here, she gets a shameful look on her face.

"I told them I might go out. I think they knew I meant here."

"How are things?" He knows it's a loaded question and when she just sighs and collapses further, he feels silly for asking.

"I just told them about Apparition this morning. It's the first I ever….I think it scared them."

"Apparition?"

"The fact that I can just...leave whenever I want." She looks up at him. "Come see you."

"Pretty soon I'll get to come see you," he offers a smile. "Soon as I get my license."

"It seems so ridiculous." Ron's not sure if she's talking about the fact that he's still not allowed to Apparate legally or the fact that she clearly feels guilty coming to see him.

"It's all just an...adjustment," he mumbles. "That's all." She leans back against his chest and he closes his eyes at the intimacy he misses each morning he wakes up without her. He wraps both arms around her tighter and kisses her neck through the waves of her hair. He hears her sigh and then she utters the words they both are feeling.

"I miss you."

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14 June 98

The memory of their brief time together out in the orchard keeps him going until Saturday, when she says she'll come over for dinner. While he's excited that she'll be here, he dreads the thought of having to share her with his family like the last time. He misses just being able to talk to her. It's been a strange two weeks back home. He spends lots of time with George, but it pains him how much looking at his own brother can fill him with sadness. He wonders if George even looks in the mirror anymore.

Though he knows Harry and Ginny are eager to see Hermione as well, he's determined to have at least some time alone with her like they did under the apple tree. He's made plans, most of which involve concealment charms, his brother's tent, and Harry's invisibility cloak. Harry had even begrudgingly agreed to help distract his family to help. Ron has things planned down to the minute.

But much like every plan they'd ever made, his quickly fall through the moment Errol arrives with the letter. It's addressed to him and, even though he can see the Minister of Magic's personal seal on it, he quickly casts it aside. He knows what it was going to be about. Harry's second interview with Kingsley this week was all his family could talk about and Harry had told him Kingsley wanted him too.

The letter is oddly formal considering that Ron has known Kingsley for the better part of three years. He addresses Ron in the letter as Mr. Weasley and discusses in a detached and textbook style all the qualities that would make him an outstanding addition to the Auror department. Ron isn't sure who is more proud, Hermione or his mum. Both are beaming at him as they read it over a fifth and sixth time. Either way, it means much of Hermione's visit is spent focusing on the letter and discussing his future and not out in the orchard alone with her like he had planned.

By the time he kisses her goodbye, she's spent most of what little time they did have alone talking about what a tremendous opportunity this is for his future. It's not that he's not flattered by the letter, but he's not sure being an Auror is what he wants. He isn't sure how to convey that she is the only thing in his future he is confident he wanted.

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16 June 98

She visits again on a Tuesday. It's as much of a surprise as the last time. He doesn't ask this time if her parents know she is visiting him. They walk into the village for no reason than to have a place to go together. He forgets how much he's missed holding her hand. She takes him to the Muggle post office in Ottery St Catchpole and shows him how to send a proper letter and then it's time to return to the Burrow so she can go home.

She asks about the invitation from Kingsley. He knew it was inevitable and when he sighs that he doesn't know what he wants to do, he can anticipate her reply.

"It's a great - "

"Opportunity, I know," he sighs. "I mean, it'd be nice to have something to do, I guess. It gets kind of boring at home."

"I know." The look on her face tells him she knows exactly what he means.

"And I do want to catch them. You know Rookwood is still out there?" His face tightens and he knows she sees it. "I dreamed about it last night," Ron confesses what he hasn't dared to in his letters. "I think all this talk about hunting them and Death Eaters..." His voice drifts and he shakes his head at the awful dream. "What about you?"

Her lips purse and she gives a shrug that is much too careless.

"I'm all right."

"Yeah?" He knows she can hear the doubt in his voice.

"I miss you," she admits softly. He knows the admission means much more than just missing his gentle touches and kisses. It's the closest she's come since they've been back to admitting she still has trouble sleeping and he hates the confirmation of what he already suspected to be true.

"Me too." Thinking about her alone in her bed, trembling and calling for him wrenches his stomach, especially when he remembers their last night in Perth and how peacefully they'd both slept.

"I can always fly in through the window," he tries for some levity. "And you can always cuddle Crookshanks," he offers with a grin. The smile is slow to form on her face, but she smiles back.

"Right."

He hugs her to his chest as they approach the two-track lane to the Burrow. Navigating life apart is more difficult then he'd imagined, but he's confident of one thing.

"We'll figure it out."

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19 June 98

His heart is in his throat the entire walk to the Granger house. He clutches the bottle of red wine his mum told him to bring in his hand and wipes his hands on his pants every few steps to avoid getting the bottle all sweaty. This will be the first time he's seen the Grangers since they all left Australia together nearly a month ago.

He wonders how the family is doing. Hermione's letters, much like his, only seem to focus on positive things, the laugh she shared with her father while unpacking, the movie she went to with her mum.

He wonders how she really is. Her revelation on the walk into the village earlier this week was the closest she'd come to revealing anything. Harry has been a great help to him and seems to always detect the nights he sleeps poorly. Hermione, he knows, has nobody and it worries him that she hasn't written about it at all in her letters. That combined with the fact that she's instructed him not to mention magic too much makes him think her parents are still having a hard time adjusting.

Summoning all his Gryffindor courage, he knocks on the door, hoping it will be Hermione who answers, but it's her father.

He offers Ron a firm handshake and a warm smile, which Ron is grateful for, though he's not sure when to let go of his hand. Hermione and her mum are apparently still in the kitchen working on dinner. Mr. Granger's offer of a drink defuses the tension slightly, but Ron stammers over his reply, unsure whether to say yes or no.

When Hermione finally enters with her mum and a plate full of starters, he's not sure what to do then either. He wants to embrace her and tell her how much he misses her, but he stays rooted to the sofa cushion and just offers a smile. It's Hermione who sits down next to him and kisses him softly on the lips.

Her father says nothing, just looks down at his folded hands.

Her mum tells Ron how good it is to see him and tells him to help himself to the food in front of them. He learns Hermione helped prepare most of it.

"Hermione, showed me this wonderful way to grill the mushrooms," her mum beams. Ron obediently slides one onto a small plate. "Told me she learned it this year, while you were….you know, off and about and what have you." The dismissive way she refers to the last year is buried by the more important fact that Hermione has clearly talked to her parents about this year.

"Yeah." Ron looks at the mushrooms and recalls how she'd experimented all the different ways to prepare them this year. "Cooks them right over the coals, right?"

"With just a little bit of dill." Her mum smiles.

Ron eats a mushroom and smiles back, thinking perhaps this dinner won't be as painful as he imagined.

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24 June 98

The party is fun and festive. He knows his mum is eager for the celebration and trying her best to be excited for Ron, even though he can tell she's terrified. It's about the most dangerous profession he could choose and the fact that he's not even going through proper training unnerves her, he knows. Hermione seems unnerved too at how quickly they are thrusting him and Harry into the ranks of the Aurors. But she smiles and celebrates and beams proudly at him alongside his mum.

He does his best to be excited too. He knows it's a tremendous opportunity and he wants to catch Death Eaters, especially Rookwood, but he's not as excited as Harry. Revenge is his major motivation, in fact. He knows Hermione knows it too.

He's unsuccessful trying to steal private moments with her. The ground floor of the Burrow just doesn't have that many nooks and crannies where they can disappear. He wonders how Harry and Ginny manage it. Even when they do find themselves alone, all she wants to do is talk about the job. He understands, communicating by owl posts is frustrating and the delay makes any real conversation limited. Still these precious few minutes outside will be his only chance to feel her lips for at least another week. Beneath the summer moon, he presses her against the walls of the Burrow, hoping for just a few minutes alone before they're inevitably discovered by a family member.

"So do you know what you're going to be doing exactly?" she inquires breathlessly, momentarily breaking apart.

"Helping, I guess. That's all Kingsley said," he tries to dismiss and lean in for another kiss.

"Helping?" Hermione frowns at the vague term that Ron knows doesn't sound like the Minister.

"Assisting the Auror effort to secure all escaped Death Eaters," he clarifies with a bored sigh.

"That sounds dangerous," she clucks, sounding like his mother. He gives her a look that reminds her of all the dangerous things they've done the last seven years. Still she frets over him an unusual amount while he works at her neck. He wonders if there's not a small part of her that wants to join him. She had been invited too, after all and he knows better than anyone that he and Harry aren't nearly as strong as people think they are without her. He's asked her to join him twice already. He knows if he were to ask a third time the answer would be the same.

She has to be with her family. She's helping them rebuild their lives. This weekend they're going to visit cousins and grandparents she hasn't seen in well over a year. He knows she's nervous about it. She's excited because she knows she's supposed to be, but he can tell the thought of nearly a week with entirely non-magical family is stressful. She'll have to share a room and answer questions about the last year she hasn't even invented lies for yet. He's nervous for her. He knows she still doesn't sleep well and though she'll cover her arms, he knows the scars and the bandage she still wears will raise eyebrows.

The noise inside the Burrow, not even his mum's raucous laughter, can hide the uncertainty both have about what looms ahead in the coming days for themselves and each other. A soft breeze causes a chill to run through her and he wraps his arms around her. She follows suit. For a few moments longer, they lose themselves in each other.


	2. July

2 July 98

The test is simple and he laughs when he tries to recall how much difficulty he'd had simply Apparating to a hoop five feet away last spring. He's excited about the new freedom of movement. He thinks about going to see Bill, maybe visit Charlie and go dragon-watching. Mostly though, he thinks about how much more time he'll get to spend with Hermione. He concentrates on the thicket of bushes down by the Marsh Meadow in Henley then waits patiently on a bench by the Thames for her to arrive like they'd planned in their letters.

She looks relieved to see him and throws her arms around his neck in a manner so urgent it surprises him. It takes a moment for him to realise it's because it's the first she's seen of him since he left on his very first mission with the Aurors.

"It was just reconnaissance." He rubs her back in assurance. "We weren't in any danger." When she breaks apart he can still see the worried lines etched in her face. "I promise."

"I don't like that they're not sending you to training," she mothers like she did at his party.

"You look great," he ignores her comment and pushes a wild strand of hair out of her face. "I miss seeing you in the morning." It's not even ten o'clock yet and he loves that she proposed such an early meeting. It reminds him of relaxed mornings in Australia.

It's been nearly two weeks since he's seen her last. Not since his party at the Burrow. His mission and her trip to visit family have eaten up the days. He shares stories about the all the meetings and debriefings that accompanied the mission to Cheshire and how unimpressed the other Aurors seemed to be with him and Harry. She in turn tells him about punting on the River Cam with her cousins and how her eighty-six year old Granny wants to meet him.

He doesn't ask how many lies she had to tell or if anybody gave her a hard time for wearing long-sleeves during the unusually warm stretch of weather they had last week. He just delights in the sight of her bare arms today, marred as they still are with ugly purple scars. He knows the bandages come back on around her parents and his own. He's not sure when she'll tell either set of parents, but he knows she's working up to it.

Eager to make her smile, he suggests going on a proper date next week. One like the one they went on in Australia. He tells her he'll even tuck his shirt in and knock on her front door and everything. He can't help but notice she doesn't seem overly excited by that thought so he dares to finally ask after her parents.

They had a hard time with the lies, she tells him. Her mother had been forced to lie to her own mum and dad and her sister too to explain the nearly year-long absence with no contact. It had been difficult and though she doesn't say it, Ron expects the car ride home from Cambridge was uncomfortable.

"I hated it," she finally admits with a sigh. She's nestled against him in a way that makes it hard to remember how they ever used to sit before. "You know, that they had to lie.".

"But they had to," he tries to assure simply. Nobody else in her family knows she's a witch. It seems an impossible situation. Ron finds himself wondering how Muggle-borns at Hogwarts have gotten by for so long. He wonders if they've all had to lie as much as she has. He hates how sad she looks and how little he can do aside from tell her he can meet her here tomorrow.

"Just for a little while." She's still hesitant to escape for too long, he can tell. "In the morning," he adds with a smile and kisses the top of her head. "I like seeing you in the morning."

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3 July 98

It's easier to wake up knowing he'll be with her in just a few short hours. He imagines the rest of summer filled with early morning visits to Henley like this. His family laughs at how he thunders down the stairs and how quickly he eats his toast and bacon

She hugs him just as tightly as she did yesterday when she sees him and he wonders now if yesterday's enthusiastic greeting had nothing to do with his Auror mission.

He delights in just being able to hold her against him. He tells her he wrote a letter to Hugo yesterday, how he had Harry proofread it to make it Muggle-proof, but how he didn't lie any either. It's the perfect segue to talking about her parents and he's grateful when she speaks first.

"It's...strange to be honest with them all the time," she sighs. "I've hid the truth for so long."

"You didn't hide the truth. You just….avoided telling them."

"That's the same thing, Ron." She rolls her eyes at his pitiful reasoning

"Well, what'd you say this morning?"

"I said I was going for a walk," she admits guiltily. He can tell she knows that's the kind of comment, one that skirts the real truth, that has gotten her and her parents to this point.

"Well, that's true, innit?" he tries lamely for some positivity.

"I don't know why I can't do it." She laughs at herself. He's not sure if that's a good thing or not. "It's just second nature, I suppose. I don't want to hurt them."

"You seeing me hurts them?" he frowns.

"I can see it in their faces every time I leave."

"They're angry?" he gulps and shifts on the park bench nervously.

"They're sad. They look...so sad."

She says they've all forgotten how to smile. He isn't sure how to reply to the honest remark. She does take longer to smile. He noticed it last month. While he can easily coax it out of her with a kiss, there's a heavy and solemn air to her when she talks about home. He's not sure how she's trying to go about putting her family back together, but he figures he owes her the same patience she's given him this summer so he tries not to pester her too much.

He tries to tell her the Burrow is a sad place too, how he's hit with reminders of the gaping hole in his family at random times throughout the day. Sometimes he'll come across Ginny crying over an old textbook or his mum staring at Fred's picture on the mantle with tears in her eyes. They're all still rebuilding, he tells her. Taking it one day at a time and trying to figure out what this new reality is without Fred. He reckons it's the same thing in her family.

At the request of Harry and Ginny, he invites her to the Burrow tomorrow. He's not very keen on sharing her, but knows she misses the two of them. They talk about the Burrow and how Harry and Ginny get on under his mum's watchful eye. They laugh and recall his dinner with her mum and dad last month. When the conversation fades into comfortable silence, they enjoy the silence together. When she nestles closer to him and presses her lips to his neck, they embrace. It's perfect. He pictures a whole summer full of mornings just like this. When she finally untangles her limbs from his and tells him she needs to go home he tries to disguise his disappointment.

"They said that they might be home for lunch," she explains. While he hates sending her back to her house where they've all forgotten how to smile, he obliges and helps her to her feet.

"So I've got a joke for you."

"A joke?" Her brow wrinkles in confusion at the random remark.

"Yeah, for your mum and dad. George told it to me."

"Oh, I'm afraid to hear it."

"If you're American when you go into the loo and you're American when you come out of the loo, what are you when you're in the loo?"

"I don't know." Her reply is mechanical and she looks unimpressed that his joke for her mum and dad involves the loo, but he continues and delivers the punchline.

"European."

"Wow." He can see her smile despite herself and kisses her on the nose, thoroughly pleased with himself. "Wow," she repeats and shakes her head. He just grins.

"So you can all remember how to smile."

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4 July 98

She arrives closer to noon than morning. It's three straight days seeing her after a month of almost nothing but letters though and he doesn't complain. They spend the first hour catching up with Harry and Ginny. Harry tells her everything Ron already has about their first Auror mission. How it wasn't a real mission, just recon, how they always have to have a senior Auror accompany them everywhere, how they have to have briefings about every action they make before and after each movement and how they have to take notes on absolutely everything.

Hermione seems impressed at the regimented and thorough nature of it all. Though he's curious, he doesn't ask her whether she wishes she had taken Kingsley up on his offer. If he finds himself bored at the Burrow with Harry, Ginny and George there to keep him company, he can't imagine what her days at home are like. Perhaps that's why she says yes to his mother's invitation to dinner tomorrow with less hesitation than he expected. He feels less urgency about trying to steal her away from Harry and Ginny knowing he'll get to see her tomorrow, but still longs for a moment of real privacy. He feels like haven't had a true moment alone since they've been back.

The summer rain keeps them up in Ginny's room, but they sprawl out in pairs, Harry on Ginny's bed of course and Ron and Hermione on the floor. They talk about nothing and everything. A little about the summer so far, a lot about Hogwarts next year. It fills Ron with a strange feeling of dread that he can see echoed in Harry's face.

It feels bizarre not to be looking forward to the same thing. Whenever she talks about Hogwarts with Ginny, he finds his hands moving over her a bit more possessively. He's used to looking forward to September and now he finds he never wants it to come.

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5 July 98

He doesn't know how Sunday dinner at the Burrow started. It already seemed to be routine when he and Hermione arrived back from Australia. Ginny told him it just sort of happened. Percy and Charlie both came home one weekend and then Bill and Fleur started to join them too. And now every Sunday every member of his family returns home and they celebrate the simple fact of being a family. Hermione receives enthusiastic greetings from his three oldest brothers. It's been two weeks since she last joined them and Ron loves how they welcome her just like she's another Weasley joining the family for dinner.

It's these moments with his family more than anything else that make him realise how much his life has changed. She's been joining him at the table for years, back when his hand brushing the small of her back or her palm on his thigh would have caused unspeakable embarrassment. She's always been welcome at the Burrow, but the way his family embraces her now is different. She's a part of his family and Ron can't help but guess that this probably feels more like home than her real one. They all know not to ask about her parents. Ron notices she says nothing about home at dinner. He wonders if it's as obvious to everybody else as it is to him.

It's before supper while Hermione is helping in the kitchen that his mum first sees the scars on her arm. She's grown so used to ridding herself of the wrapping when she's around Ron that she thinks nothing of rolling up her sleeves while she washes dishes in the sink. He hears his mum gasp. Hermione turns and meets his eyes across the room. He sits down and bends his head, avoiding his mum's horrified gaze.

The rest of the family is outside on the pitch or laying the table and he reckons it's as good a time as any. His family has been left to guess what happened to her since he let slip that she'd been a victim of torture back in May. He knows they know something horrid is under the bandage, but she only takes it off when she's with him. Tonight she let it slip. He knows it's a good thing, but it's hard to interpret anything about the horrid scars as good.

It's been creeping back into his dreams lately. The sound of her screams and the sight of her being dragged away from him by her hair. He's not sure if it was the Auror mission and talking about Death Eaters that make it worse. She knows her nightmares, like his, have never really gone away. Unlike him, she'll always wear the scar as a reminder though.

Ron lowers himself onto a chair and his mum sits down beside him. Hermione lets out a shaky breath and starts talking, her voice little more than a whisper.

She's starting further back than Ron expected, sharing details his parents have probably only speculated about.

"I think the rain may hold off long enough to have supper outside!" his dad announces jovially as he thunders down the stairs.

"Come and sit, Arthur," his mum speaks firmly. His dad's eyes fall on Hermione's rolled up sleeve and the still shockingly purple letters. It's hard to believe they'll ever fade. His dad's eyes widen and a lump forms in his throat as he pulls up a chair next to his mum.

Ron squeezes Hermione's hand. She doesn't get very far in her narrative when Bill and Fleur come through the door and ask what they can bring out to set on the table. He can see their eyes rest on Hermione's bare arms too and they can detect the heavy air in the room.

He's relieved it's just them. They're the only other people who know and they understand his mum's firm directive to give them a minute.

Ron holds her hand across the table while she talks. He wonders when they'll repeat this with her own parents, but senses it won't be for a while.

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7 July 98

He sits on the bench for nearly two hours waiting for her for their date. They planned it after dinner last night. They were to meet at ten and spend the whole morning and afternoon together. It will be their first proper date since Australia. It won't just be an hour on a park bench and he won't have to share her with anyone. He can hear the soft pop in the thicket behind him. She's out of breath and apologising profusely for her lateness. He hears something about her parents staying longer than expected and her dad making breakfast.

He thinks it's a good thing, but she still seems upset and keeps on apologising for making him wait.

"M'fine," he dismisses. "I got to watch those - what do you call them - those people rowing down the river."

"Were you here long?" she frets.

"It's nice here in the morning." He just shrugs carelessly. Sitting here on the banks of the river had been pleasant. He likes the change of scenery from the Burrow. After the last year on the run and a month traveling across the Australian continent, sometimes staying at the Burrow makes him restless. His parents questioned him after Hermione departed on Sunday, asking all the questions he already had. Had she been to Saint Mungo's, did they consult with a professional healer? He dismissed them much the same way Hermione dismissed his first worried inquiries.

"I'm so sorry I made you wait," she apologises for the third time. "My parents were - "

"You're here now," he dismisses and slides his arms around her, hoping she'll relax some.

The day doesn't disappoint. For six hours they enjoy each other's company like they haven't been able to in months. They walk along the Thames. They wander the streets of Henley arm-in-arm. They kiss on a bench and eat sweets. They hold hands and lay in the grass at the Marsh Meadow. He loves it. He loves her so much. Being apart from her only accentuates it more. He can't take his hands or eyes off her. If she objects to the affectionate displays, she says nothing.

They spend an unnecessary amount of time trying to decide where to eat lunch, finally settling on an ethnic restaurant that reminds them both of their trip around the world back in May. He never used to like foreign food, but now it's a pleasant reminder of all that he and Hermione have explored together. Sometimes he has a hard time believing it was nearly two months ago, but days like this remind him how important that time away with her was. He loves that they have adventures now that are just their own and looks forward to making more.

It's a perfect day. He eagerly plans the next date with her. They'll go picnic somewhere in Devon. They'll take his Cleansweep back over the hills by the Lovegoods. She delights in planning the day as much as he does. They don't talk much about anything important. He still can't quite get a read on what life is like back on Stuart Avenue. His family smiles and sends him off with a happy wave whenever he announces that he's going to see her, but he can tell that hers don't do the same. He knows she reads a lot. He knows her mum and dad are doing better, but they often look sad and that's all. For today at least he doesn't press her for more details.

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11 July 98

The next assignment is a proper one. It's cordon, search and capture instead of just recon, which is exciting, but it takes days of briefings and preparation before they actually do anything. Even then, he and Harry are still confined to being little more than backup wands and he's relieved when they're finally released to go home. He's happy to hear Hermione came to visit the Burrow twice in his absence and even happier to find a stack of letters from her waiting for him upon his return. He gathers from her letters that her parents are busy every day working out all the complicated details that come with starting a new dental practice. Hermione helps them when she can. He learns she went with them to look at available buildings and she's read three books by Muggle authors named Austen, Dickens and Eliiot. He tries not to read between the lines. It is Hermione, after all, and reading is her favourite pastime. It was her only pastime until she became friends with Ron and Harry and found other things she liked to do. He begins writing back to tell her all about the mission to haul in Jugson and Nott, but glances at his watch and decides to go to Henley to tell her himself instead. He forgot he can do that now. Visit her whenever he wants, the same way she can stop by here. The wards on both her house and the Burrow are still up so he has to run out the door and down the lane until he's far enough away to Apparate.

He takes comfort in how familiar the roads of her hometown are becoming and how easily he navigates the way to her house. Her parents' car is missing from her driveway and though he's relieved they're gone, his heart feels heavy thinking about her all alone inside as he raps on the door.

"Who is it?" Her voice sounds and he flirts briefly with a silly answer, but settles on the truth.

"Your boyfriend."

He hears her suck in a surprised breath and then the door flies open.

"Oh!" she flings her arms around his neck. "You're back!"

"I'm back," he laughs at her enthusiasm and surprise. "I just got in. I wanted to see you."

"Thank you." She looks so relieved and doesn't remove her arms from around his neck. He can tell, no matter how much he told her not to, she has worried every day he's been gone.

"What are you doing?" He kisses her playfully on the nose, even though he can guess.

"Just reading," she dismisses.

"Can I come inside?" He makes a movement to enter the house, but she stands in front of the entry and suggests going for a walk instead. "I've done enough walking the last week," he laughs and moves again to pass through the door, but again she barricades the doorframe with her body. He frowns at the action. "What?"

"I don't think you should."

"I can't come inside?" he laughs at the ridiculous response.

"I don't want - it's just - I don't know, I - " She fumbles for a coherent response, but finds none. Familiar with her nervous stammering, he waits patiently for the words and doesn't press her to explain her state. "It's just having you over without my mum and dad knowing feels...wrong..."

"Well, they can't expect you to sit at home by yourself all day."

"Look, I know I'm - it's - I just - they could come home any time and..."

"We'd just be watching the telly," he states simply with a shrug, not understanding her hesitation. "Come on, I want to see if I remember how to work it."

"I know, but - "

"You have to stop feeling guilty." He doesn't mean to laugh as he says the words, but he can't take her guilt anymore.

"I haven't asked if I can have you over," she protests, ignoring his words.

"You're nearly nineteen years old!" he snorts.

"It's still their house."

"So I can't come inside?" he repeats incredulously.

"Not until I ask them, no." She reminds him now of the eleven year old girl who followed every Hogwarts rule.

"When are you going to ask them?"

"Not any time soon," she admits without hesitation.

"Why not?" He can't help but throw his head back and laugh at the absurdity of this whole situation, but then her voice sounds and he can hear how close she is to tears and the smile quickly vanishes.

"Because they already think I prefer you! They think I prefer you and that I'd rather be with you and live at the Burrow than...be with them."

"Have they actually said that?" he asks incredulously.

"No, but I can tell!"

"I'm sure it's not me, it's just you know...magic and everything," he tries to soothe in understanding and wraps her in a hug. "Just tell them they're your mum and dad and that's complete nonsense," he offers.

"But it's not," she mutters honestly, looking up at him and despite how inaudible it is, it's as fierce a declaration of love as he's ever heard from her. The words make him recall all the summer and Christmas holidays she'd spent at the Burrow and not with her own family over the last six years. He thinks about the five times he saw her in the six days between missions and how desperately she'd flung her arms around his neck. He can see tears welling in her eyes and she lowers herself onto her front step.

Ron is briefly reminded of her breakdown on the steps of a Brisbane bungalow when she thought she'd lost in her parents forever. Somehow he wishes her parents could have seen that. He wishes they could understand how deeply she loves and cares for them, how that is the only thing that motivated her to do what she did.

"It's gonna take time." He's not sure what he even means by the blanket assurance. He reckons she'll always prefer his company the same way he'll always prefer hers to anyone else's. He wondered when it happened that they'd become the most important thing in each other's lives. Had it been that month in Australia or had it always been that way? Either way, it was the reality of their life now. He figures it's something like the scars on her arms she has yet to truly address with her mum and dad, which he knows is half the problem.

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12 July 98

He and Harry spend nearly an entire day in London being debriefed on the mission. Fortunately, they don't have to do any of the paperwork or file any reports. They do have to sit through every step of the post-operation analysis. They talk about the tactics they used, the intelligence they utilized, the defenses they encountered. The effectiveness of the mission, and the fact that one of their targets managed to escape, seems to be secondary, which drives Ron mad. Harry is excited by the news they'll be going back out on another follow-up mission within a week. Ron feigns a smile. These four days out had felt long enough.

Hermione is out in the garden with Ginny when they both return to the Burrow. He's so pleased to see her he doesn't bother telling her about the next mission already in the works.

"How was your day?" Hermione asks brightly.

"Boring." He blows out a loud sigh, which Harry echoes. "Never knew being an Auror could be so dull."

"Sorry."

"Not your fault," he dismisses airily then looks to her hopefully. "Stay for dinner?"

"I can't." She doesn't need to say anymore. He understands and shoots daggers at Ginny and Harry when they plead for her to stay. He's amazed they can be so oblivious.

"See you tomorrow then?"

"No, I'm going into London with my mum."

"Oh, good," he manages to smile at the news even though he'll miss her. "That's good."

"Yeah." She doesn't sound as cheery as him.

"Well, I'll see you…." His voice drifts unsurely.

"When I see you," she finishes with a hopeful smile. Then it's a quick kiss as he walks her down the road to say goodbye for now.

"I wish she could just stay here for the summer," Ginny remarks glumly after she's departed. Ron almost curses at his sister about how stupid a comment it is, but he bites his tongue.

"We're not her family," he remarks simply instead. The words have never felt more like a lie.

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16 July 98

There are fortunately no letters from Kingsley for the entire week and no more debriefings. Ron delights in Apparating to Henley to see Hermione every day he can. They find hidden places along the Marsh Meadow to escape, tucked into the bushes and trees in places where no one goes. She's as eager for the moments alone as he is and even brings a blanket they can stretch out on.

He revels in the desperate way her mouth moves and the way her hands tangle up in his hair, but there's only so much they can do and he's constantly looking over his shoulder to make sure nobody is coming.

"Let's go to your house," he mutters over and over, but she refuses each time. He doesn't want to address what he'd brought up last week. It seems such a simple thing to ask her parents if she can have him over and he wonders just how pained things are in the Granger household that she can't make herself do it. It makes him sad and he wants to remind her about those painful conversations they'd promised each other back in Australia they'd start having.

Sometimes he wonders if her hesitation has less to do with her parents and more to do with being alone at her house and all that it might imply. They haven't talked about their physical relationship or the lack thereof at all in the weeks they've been back. Chaste kisses in front of his family and a few brief snogging sessions have been all until now. There was no conversation that preceded these sojourns in the Marsh Meadow. They just sort of fell into it.

Sometimes the way her hands rake his back remind him of that last night together in Perth. Australia feels like a lifetime ago. He wonders if they'll ever be intimate again or if she even wants to try. Sometimes he has a hard time believing it even happened. He doubts he'll even remember how.

On their fifth day in the bushes, their privacy is interrupted by an old man out birdwatching. He chuckles when he sees them fooling around on the blanket and seems to take no offense, but Hermione's mortification ends their romps in the Marsh Meadow.

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19 July 98

The moment he hears about George visiting Charlie and the offer from the Diggorys to host his parents, he writes to tell her about it. He plans the evening, wandering around every alley of Ottery St. Catchpole, inventorying each Muggle restaurant and shop he'd never taken time to notice until now, planning the perfect date. They'll go to dinner first and then return to a mostly empty Burrow where they can finally be alone together. The only people they'll have to face are Harry and Ginny and the arrangement between them has been of an unspoken don't ask-don't tell variety. He's eager to make the night as perfect as possible.

They take their time walking to town. He asks her about her parents and how the plans for their new practice are coming along. He's not supposed to tell her about the plans for their next mission with Kingsley, but he tells her anyway. He's done keeping secrets.

She looks impressed by his choice of restaurant and even more so when he proudly tells her he even stopped in yesterday to make a reservation. It's a romantic place with candles and white tablecloths and he reminds himself to thank Harry again for spotting him the money for dinner. They still haven't received so much as a galleon for the work they're doing with the Aurors, despite Kingsley's best efforts. Ron's learning more about the innerworkings of the Ministry and all the hoops to jump through just to get a simple proposition passed.

"So they still don't let us operate on our own. We can't really do anything without a senior Auror around since we're not officially Aurors, which is also why we're not getting paid," he informs. "It's a bit annoying really. Y'know, after…everything." The single word hangs in the air for a moment between them. That's all it takes sometimes to get pulled back into it all. Her foot stops its flirtatious movement against him and they're both caught up in memories of the last year. Of everything.

"Are you sleeping any better?" he asks boldly then.

"Not any worse."

The honest remark changes the entire evening.

He thought he knew exactly how this night would go. After their romantic dinner at the restaurant with the white table cloths, they'd go back to his bedroom and do what they hadn't been able to do since that night in Perth fifty-eight days ago.

But when they lie down atop his bed and exchange the kind of shy smiles that once preceded the removal of clothing, she just reaches out to touch his cheek.

"I miss you so much."

They fall asleep entwined around each other and don't wake up until well after eleven. When she wakes and realises the time, she is frantic.

"I told them I'd be back by ten!" she frets, hurriedly pulling on her shoes.

"Just tell them we fell asleep." He follows suit, but at not nearly as frantic a pace.

"Fell asleep where? I said we were just going out to dinner!" She throws him his trainers from across the room and motions for him to hurry up. He's not sure if his parents are back from the Diggorys yet so they race down the stairs and out the door as quietly as they can.

"Well, bye then!" She presses her lips to his as they near the end of the two-track lane.

"I'm not letting you walk home alone," he snorts and takes her hand.

"I'll be fine." She tries to wrench her hand free. "I don't think you should come with me."

"I'm going to walk you home," he laughs at the absurd notion that he'd leave her to walk back through the streets of Henley alone. She doesn't seem pleased to have him join her and it's only when she has to knock on her own front door to get inside that Ron realises why.

Her father doesn't look angry, but he certainly doesn't look pleased. Disappointed more like, Ron thinks.

"You told us ten o'clock." Ron glances down at his watch to see it's nearly midnight. He can't help but think Hermione is nearly nineteen and the notion of her having a curfew after what she's been through this year is laughable. Still he knows it's not about the curfew. It's about building up trust again with her parents. It's about not escaping to the magical world and leaving them behind.

"We just...lost track of time," Ron offers honestly, surprised at his own ability to find his voice. Her father doesn't bother to ask what they were doing. He just licks his lips in, what Ron can only hope is, resigned understanding and motions for her to come inside.

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23 July 98

He hates the missions that keep him away and leave him worrying about Hermione. Somehow he doubts Harry worries about Ginny the way he does or craves her presence the same desperate way he craves Hermione. He thinks about her and the way she curled up beside him for the entire four days they are out. He wonders if she's talked with her parents or not. He wonders if her sleep continues to improve. Because it's not like when Harry kisses Ginny good-bye. She has so much to deal with and he still sees how much guilt and distrust permeates her relationship with her parents.

He loves coming home to see a stack of letters from her. He writes her as soon as he arrives, telling her all the stuff he's not supposed to, about how they brought in Rapier and how he landed two hexes. How the missions are 30% exciting, 65% boring and 5% scary. He packs in details about where they went and who was there, what he ate for dinner each night. Her letters, on the other hand, are vague and convey little about how she spends her days. Mostly she says how much she misses him. They're soppy declarations of love he knows Ginny and George would both never let him live down if they were to get a hold of them, but he loves reading them. She calls him brave and handsome and thoughtful and kind. Sometimes when Ron reads them he has a hard time believing she's talking about him.

He's surprised to find that the most recent letter contains an invitation to her home for dinner with her parents. It's been well over a month since he last visited with the Grangers. He's much more nervous than the last time. All he can think about is the knowing look her father gave him when he'd brought her to their door at midnight. He knows the Grangers aren't dumb. They know he and Hermione did more than just hold hands and lock lips when they were in Australia and he knows exactly what their late return had looked like. He reads the letter over several times as he walks to her home on Stuart Avenue, a box of after-dinner chocolates in his hand this time. Mum and dad would like to have you over again when you come back from your mission.

They greet him kindly and there's no mention of their late night last week. Ron wonders whether her mum was awake too and waiting for her daughter to come home. Mr. Granger doesn't speak much through dinner, but Ron can't remember if that's even normal or not.

"Hermione says you've been very busy helping your Ministry, Ron," she offers. Ron cocks his head at how she calls it his ministry, but doesn't comment on it.

"Erm, yeah," he wonders if Hermione has elaborated on exactly what kind of help he's providing. Something tells him she hasn't informed her mother that he's hunting the same dark wizards who had caused Hermione to relocate them last summer.

"That's wonderful." She pours two cups of tea for both him and Hermione. "Is it something you want to make a career of?"

"A career? Oh, er, I dunno," he stammers, caught off-guard by the question about his future. "Maybe. I guess." He can tell his ineloquent reply doesn't seem to impress either of her parents.

"We were talking with Hermione about her perhaps continuing on at university after she's finished at ...at Hogwarts." The final word seems to take a surprising amount of effort to say.

"University?" Ron tries not to sound too surprised.

"Yes, so she could continue her studies." Ron looks to Hermione uncertainly at her mum's words, not sure if the idea is hers or her parents.

"Right." He tries to force himself to smile.

"Just because, you know, there's no wizarding alternative and sometimes I - I do think I'd like to continue my education," Hermione speaks finally. He can tell they've been talking about the future. He wonders what prompted the discussion and whether he'd featured in the conversation at all. They talk then about what she might study and what her favourite subjects were in grammar school. Ron answers questions about his education before Hogwarts and how his mum taught him and his brothers to read and write. Mrs. Granger looks deeply impressed.

There are subtle signs all through dinner that her parents are slowly adjusting to Hermione's life. Despite the talk about continuing her education at a Muggle university, they do mention her upcoming year at Hogwarts twice. Hermione also casts her bluebell flames at dinner and Ron beams at her, knowing it's a huge step to do magic in front of them.

He still doesn't feel completely at ease with them, but he knows neither do they. It's her father he fears the most. He dreads the thought of being alone with him and offers to help Hermione clear the table with her mum numerous times so as to avoid it. They insist he stay at the table and he fiddles with the corner of his napkin and takes a large gulp of water, trying to avoid her father's gaze. The warm earthy tones he wears and the benign-looking sweater vest don't make him any less intimidating. Ron recalls the look he gave the two of them last week as they'd shown up on the doorstep at midnight. He takes another gulp of water.

"You both are taking the proper precautions, I assume," Mr. Granger speaks very plainly as he places his napkin on the table. Ron's not sure whether it's a question or not, but he knows exactly what Mr. Granger is talking about. He's thinking about them showing up to his stoop at midnight too.

"P-precautions?" Ron stammers, trying to figure out how to respond to this. He wishes there were a 12 Failsafe Ways to Charm Witch's Fathers book.

"When you're…intimate?" The query continues and Ron just gulps. Suddenly it feels like there's not enough air in the room "You have to understand our concern in this area. You - you write with parchment. You use candlelight." Ron knows 'you' means wizards and he wonders if he would be having this conversation if he were a Muggle boyfriend. "I just want to make sure that - well, that when it comes to...matters of…contraception that you're not, well, using methods that are...equally outdated, so to speak."

Ron feels his ears burn. He's not sure whether it's the subject matter itself or merely the calm way her father seems to be alluding to the fact that Ron has sex with his daughter. He mouths wordlessly for a response, unsure what to even say. Since they've been back they haven't even come close to doing anything that would require contraception. He's not even sure if most of their times together in Australia even count.

"She won't talk to us," her father confesses and, despite the awkwardness of the exchange, Ron can see genuine concern and a little bit of desperation in his eyes. Ron recalls conversations with Hermione in Australia about the honest exchanges she used to have with her mother about all this. Her parents used to be her everything, he knew.

He sees it then, how difficult this must be for her mum and dad. While their life had been on pause for most of the last year, she has endured more than they can ever begin to understand. She's a different person than who she was last summer, he knows that all too well. Her parents can see it too, but they're still struggling to understand it all. It pains him to know she's not doing anything to help them to and he can't understand why. It's been nearly six weeks that they've been home. He knows none of it is his story to tell, but he still gapes wordlessly for some kind of response.

Both Hermione and her mum enter the room with a tray of dessert offerings before he can say anything. Ron's chocolates are on display and there's what looks to be sticky toffee pudding with caramel sauce and clotted cream. It looks delicious, but Ron has difficulty summoning an appetite. It's not just the uncomfortable exchange with her father. It's the knowledge that the hunch he's had all summer is correct. She's still not talking to them.

Her father delights at how wonderful everything looks and shows no signs of having pried at Ron for answers. Hermione is fortunately oblivious to the exchange that just occurred and dessert, much like the rest of dinner, is surprisingly pleasant. Knowing his mother would be upset with him if he didn't, Ron tells them how they're all invited to Sunday dinner at his house that week. Her parents politely decline, citing work concerns and meetings with a lawyer, but tell Hermione she is free to go. Much to his surprise, they invite him back next week.

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26 July 98

A mission to Rutland will steal the next four days from them, but they at least get Sunday. She comes early to attempt to steal some moments alone. They lie out in the grass by the pond, her head resting in his lap as they listen to the wind through the rushes and feel the sun on their skin. He thinks about last summer and how murky the future had been. He tries not to think about the fact that in a month she'll be preparing for a year at Hogwarts without him.

He runs his hands up and down her bare arms softly, remembering a time not too long ago when he couldn't do that without a shiver running through her. He remembers when uncomfortable conversations were things they avoided and covered up with kisses.

"So, your dad said something to me at dinner last night," he clears his throat.

"Did he?" she inquires lazily, not sensing he's about to change the tone of their lazy afternoon.

"Something about...er…well...us" Ron's stumbling gives him away and she bolts upright suddenly, looking horrified.

"Oh no! he didn't try to - not about - " she looks mortified and furious all at once and can't even finish her inquiry. "I told them we used magic and they got...scared." Ron thinks about the way her dad talked about parchment, quills and outdated methods. "They think magic means - they think it's like...medieval!" she sputters.

"He wasn't like...angry," Ron offers. "Just sounded, you know, worried. He said you don't..." He licks his lips and tries not to sound too accusatory. "He says you won't talk to them."

"I did talk to them. I told them we were safe," she speaks decisively and Ron can't help but guess that that's all that she said.

"Did you tell them that we haven't...you know, er - done it since we've been back and we're not, you know, like doing it every day?" He can only assume her parents must think that's what they do each time they disappear together.

"No! They don't need to know that!" she laughs at the apparent absurdity of such honesty. "Besides that's not by choice."

"You want to do it every day?" He raises an eyebrow at the comment, smiling at her. Aside from their interlude at the Marsh Meadow, their lack of physical contact is something she only hints about in her letters when she tells him how much she misses him in the bed beside her.

"Because we've had so much privacy this summer," she laughs and Ron feels a sense of relief that she's as frustrated as he is even if she's never said it out loud before.

"Well, it's private here." He looks over his shoulder then to the left and right..

"Oh yeah? Out here with the frogs?" she snorts.

"Better than the spiders in Australia," he jokes back and she joins in his laughter. These are the relaxing moments with her he craves, the ones he wishes came more frequently. "Remember how big that spider outside the tent was?" he reminisces.

"Remember how you were too afraid to hex it?"

They lay lazily in the grass, recalling fond memories while hands graze against each other and lips occasionally meet. He doesn't want to bring it up again. Talking about her parents seems to get her more agitated than ever, but he also knows it's the kind of thing that she can't keep dismissing. He can't help but feel like her parents are trying. Despite the uncomfortableness of the conversation, her father had been quite calm. He didn't seem angry.

"I think they're just trying to understand," Ron offers quietly after several relaxing minutes of silence. "I think you should talk to them."

"So they can make me feel guiltier?" she sounds cross at him for sympathizing with her mum and dad "You don't hear it, Ron! The way they talk about this past year - about you!"

"Because you don't talk to them about it!" he fires back in a fervent defense that surprises him as much as her. "Of course they'd expect the worst!" He's not sure if this qualifies as a fight. It's the first time they've raised their voice at each other since they've been back from Australia.

"Every time I try to tell them something new, they just look even more disappointed with me," she confesses with tears in her eyes now.

"I doubt that."

"It's true," she replies stubbornly. "And then they try to talk to me about you and us and I just…."

"I think they just want to understand," he stresses again. "When your dad asked me, you know he wasn't like - mad or - or disappointed," he uses her words. "He just wants to know we're being...smart." He's not sure why he's so defensive of the man considering what an uncomfortable moment it had been. He remembers his dad had had the same conversation with him after all before they'd left for Australia. Perhaps this was the Grangers' attempt at pursuing normalcy. As awkward a conversation as it had been, he can't help but think it means acceptance. They accept what an important part of her life he is, they accept that she's intimate with him, and they accept magic in her life. They just don't understand it.

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31 July 98

It's the longest mission they've gone on yet. Four days in the Northumberland wilderness. Her house is the first place he goes after checking in at home and giving his mum a hug and kiss. It's Harry's birthday and he knows they'll celebrate tonight, but all he wants to do is see Hermione. A car is in the driveway and he paces nervously along the pavement, wondering if he should interrupt. He glances at his watch. It's only ten in the morning. Maybe she's preparing them brunch. Maybe they're planning a day in London. Maybe he shouldn't be here.

"We should only be a couple hours, sweetheart." He hears her mother's voice as the door opens and both parents hurry out the door. "Oh! Ron!" They startle when they seem him standing by the road.

"I was - just - I - " he stammers uncertainly. I just got back from five days away and I had to see your daughter.

"Hermione, look who's here!" Her mum calls cheerily and smiles at Ron. "You two should go get breakfast," she encourages.

"Yes, the Baskerville just started opening for breakfasts, I think," her father encourages Hermione, who is still standing in the doorway. "It's a nice walk along the river." Her father turns to Ron and then motions back toward the house. "You two should go."

That's all they say before climbing into the car and departing. Ron can tell something has changed between the small family. He can see it in the easy and supportive way they speak to her. It's not that they haven't been kind to her before, but he can detect something else. There's an air of familiarity. It's not just forced politeness. He walks slowly up the step to where she stands in the door with her arms folded.

"I guess we should go to breakfast." He grins.

"I guess so." She returns the smile

"You talked to them?" He's bubbling with pride and happiness for her. She hugs him tightly.

"I talked to them."


	3. August

August 98

It's Harry who now races to check the mail each day, eager for notification about an upcoming assignment. Ron's embarrassed at his relief each day it doesn't arrive. He feels like a ninny for blowing out a sigh and carrying up his letters from Hermione. Between their use of both owl and Muggle post, he receives a letter from her almost every day now and both of them having Apparition licenses means it's not such a long time between visits.

The invitation to help the Grangers help paint their new office is a surprising, but promising step forward. The practice is located down in Reading and they have to ride all together in the Grangers car to get there. He hasn't ridden in a car since Australia and his hands sweat the entire time.

The trip alternates between silence and her parents attempts to make small talk. Hermione reaches over to grab his hand and smiles, which he thinks her father can probably see in the mirror up front. He says nothing, but tells Ron all about the history of Oxfordshire and Berkshire. Ron learns all about important priories, manor houses and estates. When he mentions that many of them are in the Domesday book, her parents seem pleased and a bit relieved that he knows about Muggle history. He knows small things like that are important. This whole car ride and invitation are important. This is a family event, a part of the Grangers rebuilding their life back here in England, and they're including him. Hermione insists it wasn't her own suggestion and it makes him that much more nervous.

They patiently explain all the steps to painting in the Muggle fashion to Ron. It seems messy and complicated, but he knows better than to suggest using magic. First, they must first tape everything in the building. They tape around the door frames and the open sockets where they plug in the items that use electricity. Then they put plastic on the floor. Then they have to paint everything white. Only then can they paint it the warm ochre color Hermione selected. It's tiresome and laborious and he's afraid he'll mess up all the time, but it's also great fun.

Hermione's hair is tied behind in two plaits and she looks as attractive as he can remember. Her mum and dad are working in the other room and Ron tells her how pretty she looks once he's sure her parents on the other side of the wall.

"Like this?" she laughs at her ratty attire.

"Yeah," Ron grins and sidles up to her. "Though I think you'd look better…" He lifts the brush and paints a swatch of yellow across her forehead. She does the same to him down his long nose and they flirt back and forth, painting cheeks and arms until her parents enter the room. They're both giggling and he can see it makes her parents happy to see her smile. Something tells him it hasn't happened very often this summer in their presence. They only come to borrow the painter's tape and then quickly retreat, seeming to very much enjoy the sight of her having so much fun.

It takes two whole days and Ron is disappointed when they are finally finish. He's pleased to discover there's truth to what Hermione always used to say. Some things are more fun when done in Muggle fashion. He finds himself hoping that the Grangers need their home repainted next.

7 August 98

He's exhausted after a three day mission tracking Theodore Nott's father across the country. The old man is wily and elusive and they have little to show for it at mission's end. Nott still remains at large and Ron's annoyed by the whole useless mission. He returns to the Burrow, weary and annoyed by the whole excursion, but pleased to see the now familiar sight of Hermione and Ginny out in the garden.

"What are you talking about then?" he asks with a grin, knowing what the reaction will be when the girls see them. Sure enough, they both shriek with delight and jump to their feet. Hermione immediately flings her arms around his neck and presses her lips to his. He smiles against her, pleased at how routine these homecomings are becoming. It almost makes being away worth it. The commotion causes his mother to come storming out of the kitchen as well to welcome them home, offering to make sandwiches for them.

Even though he really just wants to tuck away with Hermione, he obliges his mum, who also promises chocolate and jam biscuits she baked yesterday. He knows she worries a million times more than Hermione does when he and Harry are out on missions. They decide to go for a fly afterward, warning his mum they'll be out all day so she doesn't worry.

Hermione clings tightly to him on the back of his Cleansweep as they dip and weave over the Devon hills. Despite the desolation of the countryside they are flying over, they still run the risk of being seen and breaking about a million Wizarding laws, but not even Hermione says anything. He grins at how tightly she presses herself against him and the way her arms wrap low around his waist. It's clear Harry and Ginny are just as desperate for a bit of liberty as they are. They fly high in the air, evading villages and roads and anywhere curious Muggle eyes might find them. He finally halts somewhere over Dartmoor after over an hour in the air. Whether it's the beauty of the moorland or exhaustion from flying as long as they did, they all quickly collapse into the course grass.

The flowering heather and gorse make for a colorful backdrop, all purple and gold, and Hermione looks out in awe, muttering how beautiful it is. They sit back on their elbows and enjoy the wild open space. It's early for everything to be flowering, Ginny comments.

"I reckon after the last year, the world knew we needed a little color," Ron quickly replies.

The comment causes them all to sink deeper into the heather and Hermione nestles a bit closer to him.

"I'm glad you're back." Her simple words, however obvious, still make him smile.

"Me too." He grins and shifts his weight toward her. Her hand moves up his torso, inviting him closer, hardly seeming to care that Harry and Ginny are just a few feet away. The reddish-purple shrub is so tall it rises well up over their heads so he can steal a kiss without hearing Ginny gag.

She asks for details about the mission and kisses him below his ear. He tells her how frustrating it is for him and Harry. They're still not technically a part of the Auror Department even though this past outing marked their fifth mission. The legislation Kingsley introduced last month to officially bring them on board still hasn't made it's way through the Wizengamot. He's ready to start getting paid so he can take her on real dates.

"We don't need to go out anywhere," she assures. "Just take me back here."

"You like it here?" he inquires, pleased at his navigation skills. He'd flown here once with Harry last month and had filed it away as a possible place to escape to with Hermione.

"I love it here," she sighs.

He doesn't ask whether it's the rugged beauty or the sheer remoteness of the area. He reckons it's a little of both.

News that her parents want to have his mum and dad over later this week should fill him with more joy, but he's frustrated by how much of their summer seems to play out with either his parents or hers. He's happy her parents feel comfortable enough to invite his mum and dad over, of course. He likes to think he played a part in it. That his visits to her house and his efforts to help paint have helped them be comfortable around him. But he misses her. The part of her he gets to see in private moments like this.

The importance of the conversation is lost amid the kisses. Her parents are inviting a magical family to their home. However poorly the first months of the summer have gone, Hermione has done enough right. She's introduced magic gradually, he knows. Little things to show how useful it is. Like using her wand to touch up places where the paint splattered or dripped or cleaning up a spill when she's making breakfast with her father. He knows the most horrifying details of the last year are still hidden from them. She still covers her arms and hides her torture from them. He wonders if she'll tell them before she leaves for Hogwarts. He tries not to pay attention to the calendar, but he knows the date creeping closer.

She leaves in twenty-four days.

9 August 98

It's six PM on a Sunday when the Weasleys arrive in Henley-on-the-Thames. Ron has made sure they're properly dressed, that his dad is wearing neither pantaloons or galoshes, and he's grilled them for the better part of an hour about what not to say. He warns his dad about all the things his dad will see at the Grangers house, warning him not to get too excited by the microwave or the air conditioning. He's more nervous than Hermione probably is. They walk the fifteen minutes to her house from the spot along the Marsh Meadow he's Apparated to all year.. He can tell his parents are impressed at how comfortably he navigates his way around the Muggle town.

They seem oddly proud of him as he leads the way to her house. Moreso even than when he got his letter from Kingsley. Mr. Granger answers the door and gives Ron a warm welcome before shaking his father's hand. They've all met before on the platform at King's Cross of course. His dad always makes an effort to talk to the Grangers. Ron remembers when he had even showed them around Diagon Alley five years ago, but that had been a frightful trip and to his knowledge the Grangers had never returned.

But now they're welcoming the Weasley family into their home and he knows it's huge.

Hermione wrings her hands nervously at first, but she's beaming too. He remembers a moment in Australia when this dinner seemed like the least likely thing in the universe.

Mr. Weasley tries to contain his excitement when Mrs. Granger dims the lights before dinner, but he can't contain himself. He tells Mr. Granger all about his garage and how many vacuum cleaners, camcorders and garage door openers he has in there. He boasts about how much Ron has helped with the television. Mr. Granger asks if he'd like to try out the television then and his dad is so excited he can no longer keep his enthusiasm under the surface. Her dad laughs, a deep belly laugh. Hermione tells him later it's the most fun she thinks her parents have had all summer.

10 August 98

Head Girl.

It's no surprise, of course, and he's not sure why she feels the need to tell him in private, but he's still so proud of her. He covers her with kisses when she holds out the letter for him to read.

"I hope it's not too much responsibility." She collapses back onto his bed and lets out a loud sigh.

"No more than you can handle." He reminds her how she planned secret meetings of the D.A while studying for her O.W.L.S. "And you got me and Harry through them."

"You got yourself through them," she dismisses.

"If you say so." He lays down beside her on the bed. She should be ecstatic. Ron knows she's wanted this since she was eleven, but her face conveys neither the elation or pride it should. They surmise about who Head Boy will be and whether she really gets her own private bathroom. He even jokes about writing Percy, but still the smile is slow to form on her face. He asks how long she can stay, knowing the rest of his family will want to celebrate the honor with her too.

"Well, my mum and dad want to take me out to celebrate," she explains. "Head Girl is something they can understand."

"Good!" He's cheered by the fact that her family wants to celebrate any kind of magical accomplishment with her.

"They invited you." She presses a hand to his chest.

"Well, of course they did." He burrows his face into the crook of her neck playfully. "Your mum and dad love me."

"Things are certainly better than they were in May." She combs her fingers through his hair lazily.

"Mum'll be sad, of course, when I move to Henley and they adopt me. But dad'll be pleased. He'll come visit.".

"What are you going on about?" she laughs at his ramblings. Pleased to have finally gotten a smile out of her, he relents. He declines the invitation however, explaining that Ginny made Quidditch captain so his family has already planned a celebration of their own, but is flattered nonetheless.

"They do like you." She stops toying with his hair and slides her hand to rest on his cheek. "They ask about you quite a lot."

"Oh yeah?" He shifts his face beneath her hand and kisses her palm playfully.

"Since I talked to them last month, yes."

"What'd you tell them about me?" He wraps her up tightly in his embrace and rolls beneath her playfully. He'd never asked her about the conversation that had helped melt some of the frostiness between her and her parents. All he knows is the conversation had helped change things.

"Just how much I love you." She gives a simple shrug and kisses him softly. Though he guesses there was more to the conversation he relents and just gazes up at her. He likes when she leans over him like this, her hair falling front of her face like a curtain.

"Head Girl," he repeats the words and looks up at her with adoration and amazement and she kisses him again. This time she lowers herself and allows her weight to rest on him. The playfulness of their interactions suddenly give way to something more. He can feel their bodies align and he grips her hips instinctively as she moves against him. They slip so easily into this intimacy that hints at more. He wishes he couldn't hear his mum downstairs in the scullery or his brother downstairs rearranging his room.

"Want to go fly to Dartmoor?" he mumbles, desperate for privacy and recalling how much she'd enjoyed the rugged beauty and isolation. That could be a thing. They could have sex in the heather. It's the kind of romantic stuff he knows girls liked.

"It's an hour away." Her reply makes him wonder if she'd say yes if it was closer. "And I've got dinner, remember? With my mum and dad."

"Right."

It's been the curse of the summer. He's so pleased her mum and dad want to celebrate this with her. He's even more pleased they've invited him, but he can't help but blow out a loud sigh. He's starting to drive himself mad staring at the calendar and thinking about life a month from now.

"I know," she confesses, collapsing against him and pressing her face into his chest. He knows then she's dreading the end of summer as much as he is and somehow they've passed the point where the feel of her lips on his can make him forget about it.

12 August 98

It ends up being only two days home before they get news they have to leave again to follow a lead on Nott. Intelligence says he might have picked up with Rookwood somewhere outside Liverpool. The two old Death Eaters are proving to be the most difficult to haul in. They leave traces wherever they go though and each time they do the letter shows up from Kingsley.

He is pleased to hear they have a lead on Rookwood whose trail had been cold for weeks. Still, he's disappointed at the news that he and Harry will have to travel to London tomorrow. Kingsley's letters never say how long they will be gone. Ron pushes the chicken pie across his plate glumly. He and Hermione had plans to fly to Dartmoor Monday, but summer rains had kept them inside with Harry and Ginny, and then she'd spent all day yesterday with her parents. It's how the rest of this month will go, he knows. He'll have a few days with her, then he'll go on a mission, and then she'll be tied up with her mum and dad. It's how the entire summer has gone.

He wishes he was as excited as Harry. Throwing Rookwood in Azkaban is a pleasing thought, but not nearly as pleasing as the thought of a mere hour alone with Hermione in the heather. Merlin, he's such a tit.

When he hears Bill and Fleur talk about next Sunday his head snaps up. He tries not to be too obvious when he shovels the last of the cherry cake off his plate and races up the stairs to write Hermione.

The first lines flow out easily enough. He tells her about Rookwood and everything Kingsley's note says about the upcoming mission even though he's supposed to keep it secret.

Bill and Fleur are hosting Sunday dinner next week so my whole family will be up in Cornwall.

He rolls the quill between his fingers, unsure how to phrase the next line and say what he wants.

I was thinking maybe you could come over so we'd finally have one bloody chance to be alone together. I was thinking maybe you could come over and we could shag. I was thinking maybe just once before you leave for Hogwarts we could try having sex again.

Blowing out a weary sigh, he drops the quill and reaches beneath his bed to the crate where he stows all her letters. He sifts through the ones from the last few weeks, not even sure what he wants to find. Proof, he guesses, some clear confirmation that if he invites her over she won't think he's being too pushy. It's silly, of course. They've done it before and she'd initiated it half the time back in Australia. But that was months ago. Everything is different from their time together across the world, down to the way she kisses and moves against him. She'll say things sometimes that indicate she misses the intimacy they'd shared in Australia as much as he does, but there's not the urgency and desperation. They're no longer the only two people that matter.

She writes about their time in Australia a lot. Not just a mention of her parents most recent conversation with Hugo either. Sometimes it seems like a whole letter is filled with nothing but memories.

He pulls out one from last week that hints at the night they'd first made love.

I dreamt about the Nullarbor last night. Do you remember that night sky at the petrol station? Sometimes I wonder if I'll ever see a sky that clear again.

Other times she's more obvious.

I think about that hotel all the time. I remember sharing a room and a bed and I miss it so much.

He takes out the most recent one she wrote just days ago after his parents visit.

Sometimes I wonder what we'd be like if I'd gone to Australia on my own. I wonder about all the things we wouldn't have said and all the things we wouldn't have done.

He debates the meaning behind it, wondering if it means she doesn't think it was a good idea and reads on.

I miss sleeping with you and fighting over the covers. It's a bit strange to realise how long it will be before we get to do it again. I think about it quite often.

He thinks she just means sleeping, but he can't help but read between the lines there. The desire in her letters is always so implicit.

He looks down at his letter, hoping she'll read between the lines too.

15 August 98

The stupid mission lasts through the weekend. He finds himself oddly relieved when the trail goes cold after Rookwood once again slips through their fingers. He's been distracted the entire mission, wondering about how she received his letter.

He shows up to her house as soon as he drops his things at the Burrow. There's no car in the drive, indicating her parents are out, and she surprises him by inviting him inside. He tries not to question or second-guess the invitation, recalling their conversation on her doorstep last month. He can only imagine things have continued to improve with her mum and dad. He's proud of her, but unsure where to go or what to do in the empty house. The only other time he's been here without her parents they'd done things on her bed, which he doesn't think is why she invited him in.

"So did you get my letter?" he tries to act casually.

"I did," she replies calmly and sits on the sofa in front of the telly.

"And?" he joins her on the sofa nervously.

"I think it's wonderful Bill and Fleur want to host dinner."

"Yeah."

"But I hope they understand I don't think I'm up for...you know, going back there yet."

"Right. Me neither." The conversation hints at the trauma that the mere thought of Shell Cottage raises, but Ron doesn't want to talk about her convalescence there or Dobby's grave for that matter. So he kisses her because he's an idiot and he doesn't know what else to do.

"I thought you wanted to practice working the telly?" She holds the remote up by his head.

"I want a lot of things," he murmurs against her in his best attempt to sound sexy.

"Yes, but you're not going to be doing any of those things here," she laughs playfully.

"That's why I was thinking you could come over Sunday." He works at the place just between her ear and her clavicle. "You know instead of going to Shell Cottage with my family."

"Yes, I'd reasoned that much out from your letter."

"We'd be alone." He's not sure why he feels the need to clarify when he's already spelled it out.

"Yes, I'd reasoned that out too," she smile coyly at him. "I wrote you back."

"I didn't check the mail." He makes no attempt to hide that she's all he's thought about these past days. "I came straight here." He can scarce remember a time he's had such a one track mind, but he keeps one eye on the calendar these days. He knows each moment he has with her now is precious. Soon he won't be able to just Apparate to see her whenever he wants.

"Tell me about the mission."

"Can you come over?" He maintains his singular focus on an answer to his letter.

"I went to the office with mum and dad on Thursday," she ignores him even as he starts working at her neck. "Then yesterday mum and I went shopping on Shaftsbury Avenue."

"That sounds nice," he mutters into her skin. " Are you doing anything with them tomorrow?"

"If you'd stopped to read my letter, you'd know," she teases.

"Tell me what it says then." He can tell now she's being purposefully evasive so he plays along.

"It says my boyfriend has the subtlety of a train wreck." She laughs and he can see she's enjoying teasing him.

"Well, you've known that for years." He laughs as well and they collapse into the sofa, limbs entangled and her hair all in his face. She presses her palm to his cheek then, cupping her hand to his face like she did up in his bedroom. It's like she's slowing things down to preserve a memory.

"Indeed I have." Her eyes are bright and shining. He thinks it must have been a good trip into London with her mum.

She wraps herself around him then and they sink deep into the cushions. The smiling pictures of Hermione and her parents look down on them from the end table and the mantle. He remembers the way the pictures looked when he'd first visited this place in August, big empty holes in the middle where Hermione ought to be. Sometimes he can hardly imagine all that's happened in the course of just few months.

She informs him her parents will be arriving soon and though she doesn't sound very worried about them discovering her like this, he doesn't want to destroy the positive relationship he's cultivated with them this summer so he tries to disentangle himself from her.

"Stay a while longer," she requests, refusing to detach her arms from around him, but he persists. He knows what will happen if he stays here on the sofa with her. That's what tomorrow night is for.

"I ought to see mum. You know how she worries when Harry and I are gone," he reminds. "But tomorrow?"

"Yes." She grasps him by the lapel of his coat and pulls him close, touching her forehead to his and finally answering the question he's desired an answer to for days. "I'll see you tomorrow."

16 August 98

He doesn't feel like he's telling that big a lie when he tells his family he's going to see Hermione instead of going to Bill and Fleur's. He'd thought about taking some puking pastilles and pretending to be ill or lying and saying he's been invited to the Grangers. Instead, he chooses to be as honest as he can without telling his parents he's inviting her to their empty house so they can shag. His mum and dad don't harass him about it too much, but he reckons Harry and George know the truth. He thinks maybe his parents do too, but they don't interrogate him about it.

She arrives a half hour after they've all departed. He's cleaned his room and washed his bedsheets and brushed his teeth about a million times. It's the first time they've truly had the entire house to themselves. There's an obvious nervousness that reminds him of their first few weeks as a couple back in May as he takes her hand and leads her up the stairs. He recalls escaping up to his bedroom those first days as a couple and not even being sure how to go about kissing her.

"I told my mum and dad I'd be back no later than midnight," she sputters upon entering his room.

"Okay. My family'll probably be back by ten anyway. " He doesn't have to close the door, but he does anyway.

"They know I'm here." She blurts out, apparently eager to tell him she's told the truth.

"Great. Mine too," he affirms. " I mean, they know that I'm with you. They don't know you're here...exactly. Well, I think they don't. But they might. I reckon they probably do."

His stammering makes them both laugh. Neither has gone out and actually said what they want from the night and the underlying anxiousness is palpable.

"Do you want to sit down?"

"Of course, yes. Of course." She slides her shoes off and sits down on the edge of the bed. Now it reminds him exactly of the first time he'd kissed her after the battle just a few months ago. This time he leans in to kiss her with ease. Their teeth don't clang together and there are no arguments about who should close their eyes. The simple kiss reminds them why they were so eager for this night alone and they collapse back onto the mattress quickly.

It's nothing they haven't done this summer on a blanket at the Marsh Meadow or in a field of heather, but she seems anxious and is constantly moving and adjusting her position against him. Finally, she sits up and apologizes.

"I'm sorry. I don't know why I'm so...nervous." Her hair is tied back in a loose plait, but she still brushes loose strands out of her face. "It's like I don't...remember."

"Remember what? How to do it?" He can't help but laugh. "Me neither."

"It's just that last time was so..."

"Good?"

"Incredible," she sighs.

"I think we should just accept now it's not going to be incredible." He remembers how anxious she had been in Australia about knowing what to do and how to be perfect.

"Don't say that!" Hermione cries, looking visibly upset by the thought..

" - or long," he continues with a laugh despite her protestations. "But that's okay because it's been eighty-five days and...fourteen hours." He glances at his watch, making no pretense of the fact that he's kept track of each day that has passed. "But it's you and me," he reminds her of the difficult lessons they'd both learned there. "We'll figure it out again."

They remove their clothes in an oddly formal and disjointed manner and fumble over how to position themselves. It's a far cry from their last passionate night together. The mattress is too flimsy and the bed springs squeak beneath them and they both apologize for their own perceived shortcomings. It's more like the first three clumsy times in the tent than it is the last brilliant time together in Perth.

Somehow it's still perfect though. They laugh at their own stiffness and how out of practice they are. They remark about how long ago Australia feels. They stay starkers under the sheets, legs tangling at the edge of the bed. They do it a second time with fewer apologies. He remembers how well their bodies fit together and the private places he can touch her that drive her mad. She's more confident and vocal and even takes a turn on top.

He tries to ignore the fact that in two weeks she'll be gone.

17 August

He can hardly think about anything else on Monday. It had been so long he'd genuinely forgotten what it was like, to feel her move beneath him and hear her make the sounds he knows she only makes with him. He tries to think how many more times they can do it in the twelve days they have left. When she shows up at the Burrow before noon he thinks she must be thinking the same thing and he makes a comment about how desirable he is.

"No, that's not why I - "

"You don't have to pretend - "

"I want to tell my parents," she blurts out.

"I'm pretty sure they already know, Hermione." He doubts he needs to remind her of the conversation her father had attempted to have with him.

"No, not about..." She rolls her eyes. "Really do you think about anything else?"

"Not really," he confesses honestly with a laugh and crosses his arms. "Especially not since last night."

"Well, that's what made me realize it."

"Realize what?" He realizes now she looks quite serious. She looks warily over her shoulder to where Ginny and his mum are shelling peas. She holds her arm out for him and invites him to walk with her and he knows then this is a private conversation.

She starts innocently enough, telling him about her morning and how she made breakfast for her mum and dad, which makes him smile.

"Then mum asked about you. You know, how our night was." He can see she's trying to speak calmly, but her cheeks turn crimson, as he imagined they did this morning with her mother, at the recollection of last night's activities. "She knew. I know she did," she admits, not looking nearly as mortified as he'd expect. "I was happy she did though." The words surprise him so she continues explaining herself. "You are...the one thing I've been able to share with my mum and dad this summer." He knows she means more than just sharing time and sitting down together for dinner. "And it's helping me...I'm getting better at not...hiding so much of my life from them." She stops walking finally and he notices her fingers toying with the cuff of her left sleeve. He knows now what the conversation is about. He knows before she even says it. "I don't want anymore secrets."

They haven't talked much about what happened to her. They haven't talked much about anything that happened in the last year. He knows what they've endured is not the kind of trauma that goes away after a few weeks of summer holiday. Fred's grave across the orchard is enough of a reminder of that.

"Do you want me - are you telling me because - do you want me to go with you?" He remembers the difficult conversations she'd had with her mum and dad in the hours after the spell had been lifted.

"I want you to tell me that I should do it." His reply is immediate. As difficult as it is, he fully embraces her being truthful about the events of the last year. "Even though it means it might make them...afraid again?"

The query halts Ron's blanket assurance. They're just becoming accustomed to everything. Admitting to her mum and dad that she'd been tortured and nearly killed could change everything. He offers to come with her, not sure what difference it will make, but wanting to do something to support her.. He remembers how difficult it had been for her just to tell his parents. She dismisses the offer much too quickly and they go round and round about a hundred different reasons why he shouldn't go before she finally blurts out her real reason.

"You just get so upset!" Her voice is ironically the one that's breaking.

He has no rebuttal. He does get visibly disturbed each time he so much as thinks about what happened to her at the Malfoys. How powerless he was. How broken she was. He shivers just recalling her screams.

He knows she'll never understand. She'll never know what it's like to know that someone you love suffered that much. The agonizing pain of knowing somebody wanted to make her suffer that much. Her parents will feel the same pain when she tells them. She'll downplay it and insist she's okay. That it's over and done, but she won't understand that it will never be over. He'll always want to protect her. He'll always be on a heightened state of alert. He imagines when her parents learn about what happened to her they will too.

Still he knows it's the right decision. She doesn't want any more secrets before she returns to Hogwarts. This will be it. The last thing she's hidden from her mum and dad about her life in the wizarding world. As much as he wants to be there for her and hold her hand through it, he understands her streak of independence and he loves her for it.

They're about to embark on a year of living away from each other, after all. He can hardly imagine what life is like independent from Hermione. For all the time they've been separated these past few months, the summer for him has still been all about her. Even on Auror missions, he can find himself embarrassingly distracted.

Things are about to change though and they both know it. Telling her parents this truth, however painful, is preparing for a life where she doesn't have him to support her all the time. For the next ten months they're going to live their lives apart. Every triumph, frustration, frustration and fear he'll be able to pour out only through a letter.

When he says goodbye to her that afternoon there's a pit in his stomach he hasn't felt since the first time they said goodbye back in May. It takes him a moment to realize what it is. They've settled into such a comfortable rhythm this summer he forgot what the fear of the unknown feels like.

26 August

They try to squeeze in as much time together as they can, but between two missions in eight days and a long weekend away with her parents, Ron's left staring at the calendar and realizing it's somehow now only a matter of days before she leaves. He wonders where August went and finds himself cursing the Auror department and all their stupid pointless missions. They've tracked Nott all over England and still can't seem to haul him in and Rookwood's completely disappeared again.

He takes her into Diagon Alley to buy her school things. It's the first either have been all summer. It's not so much that they've avoided it really. They've talked about going in all summer, but other things seem to always take precedence. At first he's glad to be back. He's grateful her parents so willingly allowed her to travel back to the Wizarding World with him. He was worried after they told them they might regress. He could see a bit of nervousness when he'd shown up at her doorstep this morning, but he thinks perhaps Hermione must have said all the right thing. He can see her father trust him and he hopes the way he takes Hermione's hand confirms what Hermione had told them, that he would never let anything happen to her.

The sights and sounds of the Alley are familiar at first. For a moment it feels like any other trip to buy school supplies, but the feeling quickly vanishes. Too much has changed. He feels too many eyes on them. Harry and Ginny both warned them it would be this way, of course.

They do their best to ignore the stares. Ron notices Hermione tug at her sleeves and he tightens an arm around her waist. They make the usual rounds, but spend more time on the quieter South Side and deliberately avoid this brother's empty shop. They go to Wiseacre's and he gets owl pellets for Pig, who he jokes will need extra strength to get all the way up to Hogwarts on a regular basis.

He feels oddly removed from any discussion about Hogwarts. It feels as long ago as the days he and his brothers spent being taught arithmetic by their mum. When he thinks about Hogwarts all he can think is it's the place his brother died. He remembers a battlefield. A graveyard. He tries to recall the Great Hall and the floating candles and the house cup, but all he can see is dead bodies lined up like cordwood on the floor.

"It'll be strange without you and Harry," she finally admits what has been rattling around both their heads all day and pushes the raspberry ripple in front of her around with a spoon.

"Ah, you'll get so much done without us," he dismisses and takes a bite of it himself. "You'll be so brilliant."

"It's going to be so lonely."

"You'll have Ginny. And Luna too, Ginny said she's coming back." He tries to stay positive and steals another bite of her ice cream.

"I just can't even imagine what it'll be like...Hogwarts without you," she admits and he can start to see the sadness creeping in. It's what he was afraid of and why he knows they've never really talked about the upcoming year at Hogwarts at all this summer.

"Well, don't think about it like Hogwarts. I mean it's not Hogwarts. Not anymore." She looks at him quizzically for further explanation so he takes the dish of ice cream from her hands. "Like this ice cream. It's not anywhere near as good as Florean Fortescue's. It'll never be Florean Fortescue's." The somber reminder about the fate of Mr. Fortescue does little to ease her sadness. "But if you don't order it expecting to be that then you won't...be disappointed." He steals more ice cream. "Don't think of it like the place where...we grew up together. Think of it as just this one last thing you have to do. These seven courses you have to get through before you can move on, y'know?"

"Percy told me you don't have much time your N.E.W.T year for much of anything." She grabs the wafer from the ice cream dish in his hands and takes a rather large bite.

"Right? See, so it's better Harry and I aren't there."

"But it's not just that," she mumbles through her large mouthful of wafer. "It's that nobody that'll be there….I know they all fought with us that night and I - I know people were tortured and - and Dean went into hiding and Luna was a prisoner," she sputters a list of classmates who had suffered to various extent. "But none of them - the things that we - what we saw...the things we did.." Her voice trails so that she doesn't finish.

It's something only they can share. He gets it.

Ron just hugs her close. They make another stop to buy more parchment and owl pellets before leaving.

30 August

A brisk wind and threatening rain clouds push the dinner party indoors, but the mood inside is far from grey.

it's a milestone event, one Ron hardly thought possible at the start of the summer. The Grangers are finally taking his mum up on her offer to join them for Sunday dinner. The invitation has stood since May and all summer it has been the same. He goes to Oxfordshire. She comes to Devon. She spends a day with him. He spends a day with her. Dinner tonight is different. Dinner tonight means it's no longer either or. It's both of them.

That's what this summer had been all about, of course. It's why she hasn't spent every day at the Burrow. There had been holes in her family, gaps of fear and distrust. Honesty had been a difficult road, but he knows her parents wouldn't be standing in his living room without it.

There were still hesitations, of course. The Grangers had spent three hours traveling by car to get here rather than use magical transportation and Ron had warned his family from asking too many questions or doing magic too spectacular. Mr. Granger had seemed a bit alarmed at the Mortal Peril hour of Mrs. Weasley's clock, especially in light of all that Hermione had finally revealed about the last year, but she also admires the dishes that do themselves and the self-dicing onions. They're not completely at ease, but it's not due to fear. They look a bit the way he probably did the first time he came to their house for dinner. Most important, Ron can see they're both trying. They seem genuinely excited to be here.

He gets the sense that they finally get it. It's not simply about the Wizarding World and the Muggle world. Hermione is a part of two different families. It's not just Ron who loves her.

Mr. Granger seems very impressed that Ron has earned admission into, what he called the Wizarding version of MI5, which Ron didn't understand, but seems to make Hermione proud. They talk to Harry, who they'd spent years hearing about, but never truly spoken to in depth. They laugh at George's jokes and take time to get to know Ginny, who will be leaving for Hogwarts with Hermione on Tuesday. And while they hesitate slightly to leave Hermione at the Burrow when Mrs. Weasley offers to save them a trip to London, they are able to appreciate it as no more than the kind gesture that it is.

There are tears on both sides when she bids them goodbye. After nearly a whole summer together, she won't see them now for months. He's never known her to get teary leaving her parents before and he thinks perhaps it's a good thing. When he reminds her they'll be all together again soon, that her parents promised they'd return over Christmas holiday, she smiles. She doesn't have to divide her time or her heart anymore.

They can share their reunions now.

31 August

He wakes up the morning of their last day together with an odd mixture of joy and dread coursing through him. He wishes it didn't feel so definite. There will be Hogsmeade weekends and he and Harry have hatched together a few horrible ideas about how to sneak into the castle, but there's a weird finality to the day. The summer had seemed so limitless when they'd first returned to Australia, but it's over now and he's dreading the trip to Platform 9 3/4 tomorrow more than he ever thought he could.

They only have two things planned for the day. She wants to walk to the village for lunch. He wants to go for a fly. He figures the fewer expectations he has the better an Errol's arrival should be the first indication that nothing about the day will go perfectly. He assumes the notes the owl is carrying are simply notification about another upcoming mission. He doesn't even bother with them, but Harry tears it open eagerly like he always does and reads it aloud.

He reads it so quickly, Ron misses most of the details. All he can gather is that Kingsley's legislation did not make it through the Wizengamot. There was too much opposition to allowing teenagers who had not been through Ministry-approved training into the Department. He thinks it's rubbish and turns to leave with Hermione, but Harry raises his voice and continues.

"A new regulation has emerged from inside the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and been put into law in place of my proposal. WL62-A stipulates the conditions of your official entry to the Auror Department dependent upon your completion of an accelerated training program starting next month. Details to follow." He turns the paper over, but there is no more.

They immediately begin chattering about the possibilities. Harry wonders who will teach it. Hermione is eager to know the curriculum. Ginny surmises on where it will be. Ron wonders how long it will last.

It takes halfway through lunch at a cafe in the village before Hermione finally stops talking about it. He can't quite process the contents of the letter yet. He's excited at the thought of something new. He likes the notion that once he finishes the training he can be a real Auror and get paid for it. But all he can really think about is Hermione's departure tomorrow. He doesn't want to think about everything that's in front of them. He just wants to enjoy the day.

They walk lazily back to the Burrow hand-in-hand, both trying not to think about the next time they'll get to enjoy such lazy freedom. Whenever it is he'll hopefully be a full-fledged Auror and she'll be neck-deep preparing for her NEWTS.

He's not sure who disrupts the ground nest, but within seconds the peaceful silence is disturbed by bees everywhere. They race away from the swarm, arms flapping to protect their faces from the insects, and swearing all the way back to the Burrow. They laugh at themselves through the pain as they both limp into the house covered in welts.

"Essence of Dittany'll take care of it!" she winces from the sofa. He can see tears in her eyes despite her attempts to appear fine. She somehow managed to get stung more than him and he rummages desperately through the cabinets, his left hand and eye quickly swelling up.

"Mum, where's the Dittany!" he finally hollers for his mother, who shouts down the stairs that it's next to the cooker.

"What's it next to the cooker for?" Ron grumbles.

"It's good for burns, remember?" Hermione's comment hangs in the air longer than it should. She means nothing by it, he knows, but the words seem a necessary reminder of of all that has transpired in the last year. They used to keep Dittany on them at all times. Just the smell of it alone, flooding his nostrils as he tends to her is enough to take him back.

She remarks through tears about how foolish it is to be so upset by a bee sting.

"I think they were wasps," he remarks, looking at her swollen finger. "Besides just because we went through...a lot..." He applies Dittany to her forehead delicately. "That doesn't mean other things aren't allowed to hurt."

He's talking about more than the bee stings now and she knows it.

They rest on the sofa, allowing the Dittany to take effect and the hints of last year to fade from memory. He hates how easily it can all come rushing back. He wants today to simply be about today.

Fortunately she's still keen for a fly so they climb on his Cleansweep and head for the moorland. It takes slightly longer than the last time. They're almost spotted by a Muggle twice outside Exeter and he can't find the exact spot he'd taken her to earlier that she'd loved so much. The colors aren't quite as spectacular either and a stoat jumps out from behind one of the granite outcroppings and startles her just as she's settling down. It's hardly the perfect start to a final relaxing afternoon together and on the heels of the wasp attack he can only laugh. Hours left. That's what they're down to now.

He settles down on the grass beside her, but she's already rummaging through his rucksack for a blanket.

"Are you that randy?" she laughs, pulling the tent out of his rucksack incredulously.

"How about nice Undetectable Extension Charm, Ron?" he replies indignantly.

"And whoever did you learn that from?" He can see she's secretly pleased at his mastery of the charm. They've practiced it together this summer. Trying to teach him most of the tricks that kept them alive this year seems to calm her nerves when he leaves on missions.

"You leave tomorrow." He gives a helpless shrug. He doesn't know how to tell her what he wants without seeming like either a randy git or a hopeless ponce. He had a feeling there was more to what she liked about this place than the spectacular color of the heather and gorse. The rugged landscape is somehow bleak and beautiful at the same time. It's empty and expansive with nary a soul save for the stoat that just surprised them. "I thought I'd bring the tent and it would be like...I don't know, you just write about Australia so much in your letters, I thought…."

"I suppose it does remind me of Australia," she admits, taking in the expansive vista for a moment. "Not the colors, mind you, but everything else does feel like a bit like…"

"The edge of the world?"

She nods her head then and smiles. She gets it.

While he's desperate to feel her beneath him again, it's not just about getting a shag. It's about being on the edge of nowhere with only each other. She's missed it as much as he has, he knows. The feeling of the two of them being all that matters and for at least a couple hours shutting off the rest of the world. Here there are no pictures of her parents on the mantle looking down at them. Ginny isn't calling them downstairs for supper. There are no waiters to take their order or owls from the Ministry calling him away. Even the rain clouds threatening on the horizon won't bother them once they put the tent up.

She leaves tomorrow and he has no idea what the next months will hold, but for a few hours more at least they can climb inside and disappear.


	4. September

1 September 98

It takes all his remaining strength to smile as the train pulls away without him. He's an idiot for not going back with her. Even though he knows there's nothing left that Hogwarts could teach him, he now regrets his decision with every fibre of his being as he watches the last crimson compartment disappear from view.

He wonders briefly who she'll sit with, and then feels like an idiot for forgetting his own sister.

He blames the tears. He hadn't expected Hermione to start crying. She'd been so stolid about the whole thing all summer he thought she had come to terms with it. But then her lip had started to tremble. So he'd tried hard to smile for her and remind her that this year at Hogwarts was everything she'd always wanted. She could just be with her books. She wouldn't have to make revision schedules for three anymore or plan out the introduction to anyone's essay but her own. They were the same things he's been telling her for months, but today marks the first time she hasn't countered any of his arguments and tried to convince him to come with her. Today marks the first time she seems to finally accept that she is going back to Hogwarts alone.

Harry and his family go back to the Burrow straightaway, but he chooses to walk around London by himself for the better part of an hour. He reminds himself of how much his brother needs him and how his mum has only just now started going through Fred's things. He doesn't belong at Hogwarts anymore. He knows it.

He kicks at trash on the pavement as he walks, amazed at how dirty Muggles are and reminded briefly of a conversation with Hermione about Muggle anti-littering laws. Everything he sees reminds him of her and he feels sick with guilt when he finally arrives at Charing Cross Rd.

He can't shake the feeling that somehow he's abandoned her.


	5. October

10 October 98

He's amazed, considering how busy he always is at training, how time somehow still seems to crawl by. Five weeks and four days shouldn't feel like a lifetime. When he looks at the calendar he's embarrassed to see how little time has actually passed since he kissed her on the platform.

The intensity of training hasn't made him miss her any less. Everybody is always at each other's throats and the introduction of weekend passes hasn't lessened the competition. He hates how much he'd been seething when Harry's team got the pass last weekend. He hates not being happier for him. He's ready for Harry to go back to being his best mate and not the competition the cadre like to pit him against.

Everything about Auror training is miserable. He's ready to have a moment of peace where he doesn't constantly feel like there's something else he should be doing. Something else to practice. Something else to study. He's ready to be away from these prats who don't believe him when he tells them that the worst part of being Splinched is recovering from the blood loss. Some days he desperately regrets his decision and wishes he were in front of the fire in the Gryffindor common room with Hermione. He tells her none of that in his letters, of course, and he plans on telling her none of it today.

He waits impatiently outside Tomes and Scrolls, right where they'd planned in their letter. When he finally spots her making her way down the lane, she's already broken into a run. She seems to disregard everyone around her as she races toward him, almost trampling several people in her path as her hair whips passerbys in the face. Her lips meet his before the rest of her body and he knows immediately this might be the best six hours of his life.

He pulls her into the bookshop before they can make too much of a spectacle on the street, quickly disappearing behind the stacks for several minutes as hands and tongues get reacquainted. When they emerge from the shop they are somewhat more restrained if not totally satisfied.

There are no other Hogwarts students as they walk down the High Street. He doesn't bother to ask how she managed to get special permission from McGonagall. All he knows is she is here with him.

He can tell by the way she clings to him that they won't be going to the Three Broomsticks. Ron's nose wrinkles as they enter the dingy inn and the lingering smell of goats floods his nostrils. He hopes the odor doesn't permeate the bedrooms on the second floor as well and tries to remind himself that the brief glimpse they saw of the upstairs in May had been slightly more pleasing to the eye. The inn is empty save for a hooded figure at a table Ron tries to ignore as he approaches Aberforth, who is standing behind the wooden till at the bar. He doesn't make small talk or even indicate that he recognises them, for which Ron is grateful. Hermione's cheeks are flushed enough as Aberforth hands them a heavy iron key and Ron pays for the room for the afternoon.

The scarlet colour in her cheeks remains as they travel up the rickety staircase. She seems embarrassed by her own wanton urges; getting a room at the Hog's Head had been her idea after all. It's not quite as gloomy as the rest of the inn and Ron is pleasantly surprised. Still, she inspects the room carefully, nervously almost, investigating what is in each drawer and under the bed.

He wraps his arms around her from behind while she frets over what might be a blood stain on the floor.

It's not until Ron breathes into her hair and tells her plainly what he has in every one of his letters that she allows herself to relax like she did in the book shop.

"I missed you."

After five weeks with just words on a page and not so much of a photograph, feeling her against him is almost too much. She turns around and mutters the words back to him, pressing her face into his chest. He wonders then if her letters hide the same miseries that his do as he wraps his arms around her, his chin perched atop her forehead. For a long time they remain in the simple embrace. He knows then this room is about more than simply having a place to shag, though he hopes that's still a part of it.

If all they have is six hours it's only going to be about each other.

When they do kiss and finally collapse onto the bed, quickly shedding articles of clothing, she is hesitant.

"Do you think it'll make it worse?" she asks with a furrowed brow, pressing her fingertips into his cheek.

"What?"

"You know." She motions to the discarded clothing. "Do you think it'll just make being apart worse?"

"Oh, I know it will," Ron confirms and covers her mouth with a kiss.

The first time is hurried and desperate and longer than he thought he'd last. He is sweaty and makes his way to the wash basin in the corner where he quickly splashes his face with water.

"You look good," she says from the bed, before he can ask why she's staring at him. There's a flirty lilt to her voice that makes him laugh as he scampers naked back over to her. "Really fit." She reaches out and traces her fingers down his muscled forearm.

"Well, I work out." The playful quip makes her laugh. He loves hearing the sound. It's hard to gauge her mood from the letters he receives. He can tell she tries to make them lighthearted, but they remind him of his own letters from training. Like she's trying too hard.

"I thought you just got hexed and ran around in the forest?" He smiles at the reference to his letters as she curls a leg around him.

"That's pretty much it," he assures with a grin and covers her mouth with another kiss.

They're giddy the two of them like he can't ever remember being. Even on the best days in Australia searching for her parents they'd had so much uncertainty hanging over them. There had been dark fears and worry behind so many kisses, and always something left unsaid. But this is just the two of them making the most of every minute.

"I missed you," he growls, wrapping his arms around her and burying his face against her chest. She utters the same thing in reply like they have countless times since reuniting on the High Street. He can't believe after so many weeks with no more than parchment and quill she's really here beside him. They lie contently beneath the sheets for hours like they haven't been able to since Australia. They talk about his training a bit. He tells her about how relentless the training schedule is and how many hours of classroom time they have each day. Then they talk about Hogwarts. She tells him how it took her five days to set foot in the library and how she takes walks around the grounds with Luna. They talk about taking a walk or going back to Tomes and Scrolls for some new parchment, but they never leave the Hog's Head.

"What time do you have to be back?" he finally asks a question neither of them want to think about.

'"Whenever you have to leave."

"McGonagall said that?" he asks incredulously.

"She said to enjoy the time I had with you."

Ron knows Professor McGonagall is too shrewd and savvy to think they would spend the hours drinking butterbeer. The knowledge that his old Transfiguration professor knows what he and Hermione are doing feels bizarre. More than anything else it seems a stark reminder of how much has changed.

They reminisce about their first trip to Hogsmeade together then and laugh about what their thirteen year old selves would have said if they could have foreseen this day and the two of them lying starkers beneath the covers. It's hard to enjoy the time they have when they both know it's so limited, but he supposes this is their life for the next year.

The six hours go by much too fast. When she leaves to return to the castle it's as teary as their goodbye on the platform at King's Cross back in September. He walks her all the way to the gates and he feels a strong urge to follow her inside. He wonders if this is how each reunion will go and whether tears will always follow such brilliant afternoons.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

31 October 98

His first full week as an Auror is more dull than he imagined. The only time he does anything away from his desk is to run and fetch coffee for the Senior Aurors. As exhausting as the last two months have been, he finds himself missing the frenetic pace of training. While he thought about Hermione often, there was always far too much going on to dwell on her for very long during the day. He has a hard time seeing how nearly two month of sleep deprivation, exhaustion and constant stress at training were supposed to prepare him for this. He spends most of his time looking at the clock and writing to Hermione.

He tells her about his coworkers, about Williamson with his long hair who reminds him of his brother and whose desk is adjacent to his. Then there's Proudfoot, whose voice he recognises from Potterwatch. He's not sure what to think of his boss Dawlish. Most of the people left in the Department went underground after the Ministry fell. But Dawlish stayed and Ron can't help but think of him as a collaborator from the old regime. Kingsley swears he's loyal and will be an efficient administrator, but every time he walks by Ron can't keep his hands from curling into fists. He wonders if Dawlish would have been the one to come after Hermione and her parents if the order had come down. He gets the feeling he doesn't think much of Ron and Harry working here at age eighteen. Others share the same doubt, he knows.

Despite the numerous missions they'd been on this summer, Ron can't help but feel like he doesn't belong. None of the Aurors he'd worked alongside this summer are in the office. When they do show up and offer a greeting to him and Harry, he senses a certain amount of resentment from the other Aurors. He had excelled at training and the cadre there had recognised it, but he doesn't feel like he belongs here. It feels like he and Harry are just playing make believe.

They are both so eager to meet the girls for the first official Hogsmeade weekend they don't even stop to wonder if there will be a crowd. It's the first the four of them have been out in public like this since they were all last at the castle in May. He reckons he should have expected the stares, but he's still uncomfortable with it all. When Harry locks lips with his sister the autograph seekers disappear amid a fit of giggles. So Ron kisses Hermione and the crowd seems to disperse some more. But the Three Broomsticks is filled with eager Third Years on their first trip to Hogsmeade, who all stare at their corner booth in wonder.

"I don't see why we had to come here. We knew it'd be packed with midgets," Ron grumbles.

"You were a midget once too," Hermione reprimands.

"Maybe when I was about eight," he scoffs, eyeing a particularly tiny boy who can't even see over the till. "I'm just saying we could have found someplace a bit less crowded."

"Because you did such a good job being private last time you were here," Ginny chides. He can see Hermione's cheeks flush at the mention of the mortifying Rita Skeeter article that had exposed their activities at the Hog's Head earlier this month. He still wasn't entirely sure how Skeeter had found out, whether she was back to being a bug or if one of his trainers had tipped her off about his whereabouts.

Ron figured his sister was going to take the piss the same way George and Harry had so he just stays silent and grinds his teeth. He refuses to let her get a rise out of him and ruin this afternoon. The embarrassing article had already caused enough awkwardness at home with his parents. He imagined it had been a long week at Hogwarts for Hermione as well.

"Be glad they didn't invade your privacy," Hermione mutters to Ginny behind her mug of butterbeer.

"Harry and I had tea at Hagrid's," Ginny replies smugly, referring to their own reunion back in late September.

"Yeah, I'm sure that's all you did for six hours," Ron challenges and it speaks to how much has changed in a few shorts months that he can even make such a suggestive comment about Harry and his sister. Still the comment makes him feel slightly guilty. When Harry had earned his six hour pass from training he'd managed to visit both Hagrid and the Burrow whereas he'd spent all six hours in a hotel room with Hermione, a fact that neither the article nor his own family was soon to let him forget.

"Where is Hagrid?" Harry interjects much to Ron's relief. "He said he'd be here." They all look around the crowded tavern, knowing the half-giant should be hard to miss.

Though he'd seen Hagrid briefly at his brother's funeral, he hasn't spoken with him at length since they saw him last on the platform at Hogsmeade Station in May. He'd been a blubbering mess then, Ron remembered, crying about the Thestral in his prized herd that had given its life in defense of the castle and about Fred.

Ron hadn't known how to respond then. Looking back, he reckoned he'd still been in shock and in some kind of denial. The thought of seeing Hagrid now at a familiar place like the Three Broomsticks after everything fills him with the same kind of warm feeling the butterbeer did.

"He's the new head of Gryffindor now, did I tell you?" Hermione asks buoyantly and Ron can detect a real sense of pride in her voice.

"Yeah, in your first letter."

"He takes it very seriously."

"Yes, I'm surprised he didn't walk all the Third Years down here himself," Ginny chuckles.

"He's a bit overprotective of the younger students," Hermione admits. "Can't blame him after...well, everything."

The loaded statement causes the table to fall silent for longer than he knows Hermione intended and Ron raises his mug.

"Well, cheers to him." They all raise their mugs to Hagrid.

"I think Dumbledore would be proud." Hermione reflects with a wistful smile as she puts her glass down. They all pause for a brief moment, recalling their fallen Headmaster, another sobering reminder of all they've endured the last few years. They reflect on the staff changes at Hogwarts and inquire about the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, joking that Harry ought to come in as a guest lecturer.

After another round of butterbeer they begin reminiscing about Halloweens past. They manage to laugh about the mountain troll and Sir Nicholas' Deathsday party. With some sadness they recall Sirius' attack on the Fat Lady and the night the names came out of the Goblet of Fire. Everybody has a go at Ron for how put out he'd been that Harry had been chosen. They try to recall this past Halloween to no avail. It's hard to believe how much time hadn't mattered this year. They'd hardly ever known what day it was.

When Hagrid arrives they unanimously agree this is the best Halloween yet. For a moment Ron loses himself, reflecting on Halloweens before Hogwarts with the twins. He remembers his mum would make pumpkin soup and peppermint creams and and his dad would make a big bonfire out in the garden. He would tell a scary story or two and then go to bed and Fred and George would tell the real scary stories that would make Ron too afraid to go up to the fifth floor by himself. Training has kept him so busy he hasn't thought about his brother much in the last month. Hermione seems to sense his distance and her hand moves to his thigh beneath the table knowingly. He wonders how long he'll still remember those early Halloweens when he was a child and has the bizarre and comforting realisation that Halloweens with Hermione will soon outnumber those without her. He can no longer think of a future without her.


	6. November

21 November 98

He has difficulty thinking about Hermione back at Hogwarts studying for exams and going to Quidditch matches when he has a job and coworkers and a paycheck. They call him an analyst and say it's typical for all entry-level Aurors to start as analysts so he tries not to complain too much, even when he sees Harry regularly leave on missions with Senior Aurors.

Ron knows the only way to earn his colleagues' respect and be treated equally is to prove it, but it's hard to prove himself when all he does is fetch coffee and crullers all day. He has trouble spending all day sitting at a desk and thinks even at Hogwarts they had time to get up and stretch between lessons. He writes her a little at a time throughout the day. He imagines her walking the corridors, studying in the library and curled up in the squashy armchair by the window in the Gryffindor common room. He's thoroughly underwhelmed with his first full month at work, more often than not, finds himself wishing he was tucked into the same squashy armchair with Hermione instead of stuck at a desk reading Muggle police reports.

She'd fuss at him, he knows, for writing to her when he should be working, but he can't help himself. He's eager to tell her everything about his first real month at work. He's tried to convince her to ask McGonagall for another day in Hogsmeade like the incredible day they'd shared last month, but she never responds to his requests to ask. She has too much to tell him about Transfiguration lessons and the latest meeting of the Slug Club. He replies and asks about who the newest members of the Slug Club are this year and tells her how Neville gets treated like a celebrity at work. She, in turn, tells him which famous alumni will be attending this year's Christmas party. It's awkward stunted written conversation about nothing important. He asks how she's sleeping, but he does it amid a slew of other questions about the first Quidditch match of the season and whether she's seen much of Kreacher. Some of his queries she replies to and some of them she doesn't. He misses having actual conversations and is left counting down the days and hours until their next Hogsmeade weekend.

They reunite at the same corner booth at the Three Broomsticks. Ron's not quite as annoyed as last time, whether that's because fewer people are staring at them or because they've planned to only spend an hour here he doesn't know. He's just so pleased to see her and share with her firsthand what his first month working at the Ministry has been like, however dull.

"Did I tell you they've separated all our desks, Harry, Neville and me? We're at opposite corners." He returns from the bar with all their drinks in hand, proud that he and Harry have made the Aurors life as difficult as his old Hogwarts professors.

"I'm sure that's just where the empty desks were." Hermione's attempt at impartiality make both Ron and Harry laugh.

"No, it's absolutely deliberate," Harry informs matter-of-factly before he takes a long drink.

"Not like it stops us though, eh?" Ron laughs.

"Yeah, Ron gets up every hour to have a chat."

For a moment it's like they're all sharing the same memory, laughing at how much trouble he and Harry get into and reminiscing about how much their side conversations used to drive Professor Flitwick mad. Hermione even suggests Dawlish ought to contact him about the futility of trying to separate the two.

Ron does an imitation of their boss then that makes Harry spit out half his butterbeer, but having never had a conversation with Dawlish the girls don't share in his laughter. They instead share a story from last week's Potions lab about how a boy in Ginny's year Ron doesn't remember screwed up a potion Ron doesn't know. He and Harry jump in with a story about a colleague's nasty encounter with an Alihotsy Draught earlier this month. The girls chuckle and they try their best to put pieces together from letters, but he can see there's still much to explain and silence fills the space between them.

He's not used to a world where he doesn't share everything with Hermione. Harry and Ginny have always had obvious differences. His little sister has always had different classmates, different friends and a whole life separate from Harry. But he and Hermione have always had shared their lives. He hates that she hasn't met Williamson to see how much like his brother Bill he is or that she can't laugh at Dawlish's drawling East Anglia accent because she's never heard it. He's never felt quite so different before.

She seems to detect his discomfort and asks him about it when Harry and Ginny get up to buy another round, but he dismisses it. It's foolish to be upset by such a small thing. It's no different than when he and Harry used to talk about Quidditch for hours after a practice and Hermione wouldn't partake. They're different people, after all. They've never shared everything.

Except, he realises, this last year they really have.

They enjoy one more round of butterbeers with Harry and Ginny before both couples seek a bit of privacy. He's not sure where Harry and Ginny disappear to, but he and Hermione wander down the High Street hand-in-hand and settle on a bench outside Gladrag's.

"Do you ever stop and think about what you've done?" The question could mean so many things Ron doesn't even know how to respond.

"How do you mean?"

"You're the the youngest Aurors to ever be in the Department." Her eyes shine.

"Well, technically Harry's the youngest. Then Neville. Then me. - "

"You earned the equivalent of five N.E.W.T.S in seven weeks," she reiterates what she has countless times in her letters. He responds the same way he always does when he reads that glowing praise in her letters.

"I told you I really don't think that's true - "

"Flitwick's not even doing anything close to the kinds of Charms you described yet ."

"That was only twice - " he continues to protest.

"Be proud of yourself." She clasps his hand in both of hers.

"I don't do anything - "

"Be proud of yourself," she maintains again emphatically and leans toward him, her eyes still shining. "I am."

He averts his eyes sheepishly.

She's told him as much in her letters, but hearing the words aloud is different from reading them She presses her lips to his then, as if to affirm the words further.

"I'm - er - I'm proud of you too, you know." He's not sure why he breaks off the kiss and mumbles the word against her. "I know it was...hard to come back - y'know, on your own." He thinks about her first letters and her confession about how long it had taken her to simply enter the library again. She shakes her head while he continually stammer over words.

"Why can't you be proud of yourself?" He's silent at the inquiry and she presses him further. "Ron?" Her voice loses its playful tone.

"Nothing. I just...I miss you, that's all," he shrugs dismissively and smiles, hoping she'll leave it alone. "Wish I were here sometimes."

"I miss you too."

Her eyes soften at the confession. She kisses him again tenderly and they embrace on the bench outside Gladrag's. He can hear younger students pass by and snicker, but neither break apart. It reminds him of similar public displays on a bench beside the Thames in her hometown this summer

She feels different somehow though. He feels silly thinking it. They're all different after the last year, of course, but this kiss feels different even from the ones they'd shared this summer. She feels different and not just because it's been weeks since he last kissed her.

It's not just the foreign conversation she'd had with Ginny or the names he references that she doesn't know. He wants to hear that sometimes she wishes he were with her too.

They finally break apart and browse the shelves together at Gladrag's. He has a paycheck now, money of his own to spend how he wants for the first time in his life. All he wants to do is spend it on her, but she convinces him he ought to treat himself. So they look for some new robes he can wear to work while he tries to figure what it is about her that feels different.

Her letters have slowed and don't come with the same regularity they did when he was in training. He's not sure whether to be happy about it or not. Part of him wants to be glad he doesn't get three feet of parchment from her anymore because it means she's adjusting to being there without him and doesn't miss him so desperately in everything she does. Part of him also worries that the reason she doesn't write is because she's having a hard time managing her time and, without Harry and him there to distract her, is spending all her time revising and living in the library. He worries about her more than he knows he ought to and has looked forward to this Hogsmeade weekend more than thinks he's looked forward to anything before.

He still hasn't quite figured out this weird balance that is his new life. He misses her so much in ways his letters can't even express. He's a member of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, a Ministry employee who spends his days compiling intelligence reports and trying to prove to his coworkers he deserves to be there every bit as much as they do. All the while he writes to Hermione and doesn't know how to tell her sometimes in his bones he is wracked with the feeling that maybe he made a mistake. Maybe he needed one more year at Hogwarts. He feels in over his head sometimes. Sometimes he dreams about going on a mission with Harry and tracking down all the threats he only reads about. Sometimes he dreams about Hogwarts and wakes up wishing he was there with her.


	7. December

5 December 98

Christmas holiday has him excited enough, but the fact that he and Harry will finally be moving out of the Burrow has him absolutely giddy with anticipation. In two weeks she'll be home and he will be living in Grimmauld Place with its four floors and countless rooms. When she comes to visit him they won't have to hide from the four other people who live there and invent reasons to be alone. It sounds like a kind of paradise after the last seven months.

There are other things to be excited about, of course. The Senior Aurors have finally stopped asking him to get coffee and pastries at work. Dawlish even sent him to Appleby to follow up on a lead he discovered connecting two unsolved missing persons reports with a Muggle homicide in Lincolnshire. Williamson went with him. Since then they have become something of a team. The twenty-eight year old likes the Falmouth Falcons and plays the electric guitar and still proudly wears his Hufflepuff colours. Ron's taken to calling him "Billiamson" because his long ponytail reminds him of his brother Bill. Williamson doesn't seem to mind the nickname and, more importantly, doesn't seem to mind being paired with an eighteen year old.

Harry has, of course, been going out on missions regularly since they arrived in October. Whenever he goes out it's with Dawlish. Though Ron knows he should be jealous of his best mate for going on top missions with the head of the Department, he's not. Harry might get more responsibility and more exciting missions with Dawlish, but Ron likes Billiamson. He feels less like somebody pretending to work in the Auror Department and more like he belongs there with him. Just last week he asked Ron to join him for a pint after work. He's starting to feel like an adult who belongs there and less like a teenager pretending he does.

He tells Hermione how then going back home to his childhood bedroom every night with the posters he'd put up when he was ten where his mum fixes him supper just makes him feel like a child again. They're sitting on a seat at Hogsmeade Station for their last weekend before Christmas holiday. It's the most quiet and secluded place either could think to steal a couple of kisses and enjoy their privacy.

"Is your mum okay with it? You moving out?"

"I reckon she's sad, but she'll still have George."

"He's still at home?" she frowns.

"Yeah, h's working that job on the South Side, remember?"

"Yes, you told me that. But I thought he was staying with Lee."

"No, he's home again," Ron says the words with more than a touch of sadness. He knows his brother needs to leave the Burrow. Getting a job in Diagon Alley was certainly a step in the right direction, but somehow it doesn't feel like moving forward very much. He waits tables and sweeps the floor. He finds things to distract him and trips to take. Sometimes he spends the night at Lee's, but mostly he lives at home. Ron suspects sometimes that it is Fred that is keeping him there. Even though it's been almost seven months, he still visits his brother's grave nearly every day he's home. "Did I tell you I went to the shop with him?"

"No, you didn't. Last I heard he was off in Brussels."

"Yeah, that was just for the weekend." Ron feels a pang of guilt for slagging on his letter writing. George's trip to Belgium was ten days ago and he has only written her once since. That's one of the things he hates most about being away from her. If he doesn't write for a week there is so much about each other's lives they have to catch up on. He feels like they spend most of their limited time together discussing everything that's happened and by the time they finish it's time for her to leave. "Is he opening it back up?"

"I think he's thinking about it." The visit had been a melancholy affair. Ron wonders if George misses all the joy the shop used to bring him. His brother is more serious now than he ever used to be. Though he'll crack jokes from time to time, Ron thinks he still hasn't recovered his sense of humour. He suspects a part of it died with Fred. "Harry asked him to move to Grimmauld Place with us."

"Did he?"

"Yeah, but he says it's too depressing a place to live."

"It is a bit gloomy," Hermione admits.

"Oh, we're going to fix it up! Don't worry! It'll look - it'll be different!" Ron is assuring himself as much as Hermione. He and Harry have been working there every day after work, but no matter how much they do he can't deny that it is still a terribly depressing place to live. Between the shrunken house elf heads and the ghastly portrait of Walburga Black that they still have to keep quiet around, there's so much about it that still unnerves Ron. Even if they turn on all the gas lamps it always feels dark. Puffskeins and spiders still lurk in cabinets and corners and he thinks the third floor will always smell like Hippogriff. He and Harry have big plans for it though. He promises her in two weeks she won't be disappointed.

"I can't believe it."

"Believe what?"

"You….moving out, having a job...all of it - it's just…"

"It's a far cry from last year, that's for sure," he muses, thinking about their homeless life on the run.

"I was going to say it's a far cry from Hogwarts," she admits. He thinks he can detect a tinge of regret in the remark. She looks and sounds for a moment like she'd prefer to be with him, moving out and having a job than stuck at Hogwarts. "Sometimes I can't believe it.I look at the First Years sometimes and I wonder where the time went." She shakes her head and brings herself out of the moment, like she's clearing her head.

"Does nineteen feel that much different than eighteen?" he teases and she laughs too and leans into him.

"Everything's just different," she admits with a sigh and nestles against him. "I thought I'd miss you everywhere, at every turn."

"And you don't?" Ron squirms against her, unsure what to think of the revelation that she doesn't miss him as much as she thought.

"Oh, I do. It's just I thought that - I thought it would be you and Harry not being there that would make it all feel different, but it's so much more than that." It's the first she's really hinted that there's more wrong at Hogwarts than a corridor that looks different or a new professor whose teaching style she doesn't agree with. "I don't miss you at Hogwarts. I just miss you," she reveals with a sad simple smile. "Nothing feels the same. It's just...work. It feels like a job. Like all I do is work and count down the days until these weekends."

"Well, I know that's all I do." He hugs her close then, wishing he could offer more assurance.

This is their life until June. The thought that they're only three months down with six to go is little encouragement. She doesn't speak, but he knows she wants to talk about it too. Not just missing him, but the things that make Hogwarts different, the things there he worries haunt her the way he knows they would haunt him. Something tells him she isn't baring her soul to Ginny. There's so much he wants to talk about with her too, about the pang of guilt he really does feel leaving his family and moving out and how he feels himself growing apart from Harry each mission he goes on without him. It doesn't feel like the right time to unload all that though. Not when they have so little time together.

It reminds him a bit of last spring, when they'd both been drowning in their own grief, but still trying so hard to prop the other up. He knows not to bury things. He knows he'll feel better when he talks to her. But talking about it now, when they're only going to be parted in forty-five minutes, seems foolish. The same way putting it in the same letter he'd asked about the new Slytherin keeper feels too heavy.

"It's harder than I thought," she finally admits, her words muffled against him. He knows she's talking about more than just revising for her N.E.W.T.s. . They've both tried so hard to make it seem like this transition has been easy. He's relieved they're not going to pretend anymore.

"I know."

He thinks again about Grimmauld Place and it's four floors. Christmas holiday feels like months away and not fifteen days.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------  
20 December 98

With the train due to arrive at King's Cross at three and Hermione's parents not set to return from the office until five, Ron is elated by the thought of two whole hours alone with her. He and Harry have done their best to make Grimmauld Place presentable in the last two weeks, getting rid of the takeaway containers that have stacked up in the last week and cleaning their respective bedrooms. Kreacher has done the most work however. He is the reason the floors are shining and there are no more cobwebs in the corners. Ron's pretty sure between his duties at Hogwarts and the work he has done here the aged house elf hasn't slept in at least eleven days, a fact he is sure to keep hidden from Hermione.

"Looks a bit different than last you saw it," Ron announces proudly as he opens the door and Hermione makes her way down the corridor. He knows it's still Grimmauld Place, but the ugly troll leg umbrella stand and the china cabinets full of Black family heirlooms are all gone. There is a new more colourful runner down the corridor and a bright Gryffindor banner where a faded Black tapestry used to be. Even the elf heads are gone. Hermione looks impressed, Ron can tell, and he and Harry just beam.

"What did you do with all the Black things?"

"We gave them all to Kreacher!" Ron shares excitedly. It had been his idea. "We gave him the whole third floor, in fact."

"You gave the entire floor to an elf?" Ginny asks incredulously. "To that elf?"

"You don't know the Kreacher we knew. He'd do anything for Harry," Ron explains to his sister, who he suddenly remembers never got to meet the new and improved Kreacher. "And, you know, I think he's really starting to warm up to me," he informs Hermione with a smile. She returns the smile then inquires about the portrait that always shrieked about her blood status.

Both boys faces' fall as they inform the girls they still haven't figured out a solution to remove the portrait. Though Kreacher has at least gotten her to belt up, the black curtain covering the portrait remains . The tour is quick. Both couples are eager for privacy. They show off the new sofa they bought last week and the enchanted dart board and the new wireless. Then Harry and Ginny depart for the Burrow, well aware Mrs. Weasley knows exactly what time the train got into King's Cross, while Ron ushers Hermione up the stairs to his second-floor bedroom.

"What do you think?" he asks excitedly as soon as he opens the door. The walls aren't the offensive orange of his childhood bedroom, nor are they covered with the dismal wallpaper they were before.

"You painted?" Hermione looks so pleased Ron can feel his stomach doing flips.

"Not in the Muggle fashion. I really wanted to, but I had to take down all that wretched wallpaper first and I didn't, you know, I didn't have a lot of time."

"Did you pick the colour yourself?" She admires the burgundy coloured walls that give the room a warm, welcoming feel. He nods his head proudly and motions to the boxes still piled up in the corner.

"I didn't get to do much else just because - "

She pounces on him before he can finish.

He wants to tell her how Billiamson had helped him select colour swatches and how he went and bought the paint at a Muggle store and chose it because it reminded him of Gryffindor, but all she wants to do is kiss him.

She kicks her shoes off first and they share a laugh at how many layers of clothes have to come off. They mutter over and over how much they've missed each other as shirts and belts and trousers get strewn across the floor.

They smile and revel as each article of clothing is peeled off, hands and mouths eagerly rediscovering each other. She somehow feels smaller beneath him and looks paler and skinnier than she did in October, but he reckons it's been so long he's just forgotten how she looks without her clothes on. He covers her in kisses, promising her he's about to deliver on ten weeks of longing they've only politely hinted at in their letters. He reminds her that he still owes her a birthday present, emboldened with an idea. When she indicates that she hasn't forgotten, he smirks against her skin.

"I want to try something," he whispers without lifting his mouth from the valley between her breasts.

"Try what?" Her fingers rake across his scalp and down his freckled back.

"Just something." His mouth travels down below her navel and he attempts to trail his kisses further south than he ever has before.

"No." She immediately clasps her legs together.

"Why not?" His long nose nuzzles the soft skin on the inside of her thigh.

"For one, because I've just been sitting on a train for seven hours."

"I don't care," he laughs at the weak argument, sliding further down the mattress so his hands rest on her bare hips and his head is even with her waist.

"Ron." He's not sure if she means his name to be a warning, especially not when the feel of his warm breath against her causes a shudder to run through her.

"We can shower first, if you want." The words are a subtle reminder about the first time he'd ever seen her truly come undone in a Perth hotel room. His hand moves where he wants his mouth to be and he waits for her to say something. The only thing she says is his name and if it is meant as a protest it's betrayed by the way she parts her legs for him. The next time she says his name it's a clear invitation. The time after that it's an exclamation that makes him grateful for both their sake that Harry and Ginny are back at the Burrow.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

21 December 98

So much about the evening with her parents reminds him of that first supper together after they'd lifted the spell in Australia. There are the ridiculously obvious smiles he and Hermione exchange and the way their hands linger longer than they probably should as thoughts drift to their activities yesterday. There's the knowing way he swears her dad looks at him, like there's photographic evidence diagrammed on his forehead of what they'd done. Her parents already know they have sex, of course, but Ron can't help but feel his cheeks flush when they ask what both had done the previous afternoon. Hermione tells them about Ron's new flat and they seem impressed and make polite conversation that avoids what exactly they'd done inside the newly painted walls. They're pleased to hear his work is going well and seem mightily impressed when Hermione reminds them he's one of the youngest Aurors ever to work in the Department.

Those are the moments when he realises how much has changed since that uncomfortable evening in Australia. She can talk freely about magic with them. She tells them about her favorite Transfiguration lessons and how the Hogwarts ghosts sang carols around the castle. He beams hearing her talk about Hogwarts so freely. The biggest change comes when the last of the sponge cake is eaten and the last dish is put away for the evening. Ron just assumes that now he'll thank them for dinner and say goodnight, but they invite him to take a walk along the Thames with them, commenting on how beautiful it is with all the Christmas lights. He's so taken aback he hopes his stunned silence doesn't offend them.

It's a tradition, he knows, Hermione has told him that much. A Granger family tradition. In the days leading up to Christmas they bundle up in scarves and gloves and admire the holiday lights on all the boats. And now they're inviting him. Hermione seizes his hand and his heart soars at the grin on her face. Her parents encourage the two of them to take the lead and Hermione is too happy to oblige. Ron grins at the Chudley Cannons hat she pulls down over her ears and the way she leans into him when she walks. She turns around from time to time to look to her mum and dad happily. They are smiling too and walking arm-in-arm several paces behind. He wonders if in her wildest dreams Hermione ever imagined a night like this would be possible. When they reach the end of their walking loop, her parents retire for the night, but encourage her and Ron to stay out.

"I really ought to get back. I - I have work tomorrow - " Ron stammers, glancing at his watch to see it's almost ten o'clock.

"At least take him into the Argyll. You'll love it, Ron. The best mulled wine," her mum insists.

"If you like that sort of thing, of course," Mr. Granger adds. Ron looks to Hermione wondrously as her father then starts talking about a tavern with a good selection of ale and live music.

They want her to stay out with him.

They choose a pub more off the beaten path. Ron likes the look of it and, more importantly, the thought of disappearing into the anonymous world of Muggles where nobody knows who they are or quotes that damn Rita Skeeter article.

"Never thought I'd miss being in the Muggle world so much," he admits with a laugh over drinks neither of them really want.

"You missed this?" she asks, an awed and incredulous smile on her face.

"I missed you." He takes her hand and presses his lips to her knuckles.

"Can you believe we made it to December?" she laughs, and he's again grateful for the admission that these months have been more difficult than either of their letters have ever revealed.

"Barely." He tells her how long the last two weeks have felt at work. They talk about how well her parents seem and he tells her how mum has invited her family to the Burrow on Christmas Day. It's all the conversation they hadn't had yesterday in his bedroom. He asks when they're going to exchange gifts and she flushes and asks if his gift is anything like the belated birthday present he'd given to her yesterday between the sheets.

"If you want it to be," he offers and attempts to reach beneath the table and run his hand along the inside of her thigh. She swats his hand away and looks about the room. "Nobody can see," he laughs, commenting on both the dim light and the fact that he's quite sure nobody in Henley cares what two teenagers in a corner booth do. Seeing her, talking to her, being able to kiss her two days in a row feels like every part of a miracle after the last three and a half months. When she finally moves in to kiss him, he can tell by the slow and deliberate movement of her mouth she feels the same way. They don't have to hurry or rush through anything. They have time now. Time to do more than catch up on what the other has missed from their life. Time to just be.

"So when are we going to exchange gifts?" She breaks apart and asks the same question he had as if she hadn't been the one who just initiated that kiss . "There's a chance we might be going to Cambridge to spend Christmas with my Granny and then on holiday in Normandy."

"Oh." His reply is quiet and he hates how selfish he is being, but can't help himself. "How long?"

"I don't know. A week, maybe two."

"But that's the whole holiday!" He hates the whine he can hear in his own voice.

"Really it depends on my aunt." The conversation brings him back to the summer and how much he'd had to reconcile what they both wanted with what her family needed. He's happy to hear her reconnecting with parts of her family he'd never heard about until this summer, but he can't help but selfishly wonder when the time will come when they can be the priority.

"I don't know anything for sure, yet," she admits. "Normandy might not happen. It's just something mum mentioned."

"Okay." He can't hide his disappointment.

"Hey." She touches her fingers to his lips then in a soft and knowing way. Her other hand slides to his chest, any concern about public displays suddenly gone. "We'll make the most of every day."

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

22 December 1998

It's a strange build-up to the holiday. He's used to spending the days before Christmas having a lie-in every morning and stuffing his face with his mum's cooking. Instead he is working every day until Christmas Eve. Hermione comes to visit him at work on Tuesday. He proudly introduces her to his colleagues and shows her his cubicle adorned with a Cannons calendar and a Gryffindor crest. She comments that he needs a picture of them, but he admits the only picture he has is nearly three years old and he doesn't really want a picture of him when he's fifteen in the office. When he takes her to the place he'd gone to lunch with Williamson last week, she seems surprised that he doesn't go to lunch with Harry during the week.

"Well, Harry's out a lot of the time," he dismisses with a shrug. "Like today." His best friend is out with Dawlish to follow up on a lead on Nott. It's the same kind of mission Ron had helped with all summer. Except this time he helped research the lead. He hasn't told Hermione just how frequently he and Neville get left behind on these missions. Even Billiamson notices how much they seem to favour Harry even over him and Proudfoot, but Ron figures stewing over it in letters and complaining won't solve anything. His time at Hogwarts had taught him that much. "Sometimes I go out too though. Did I tell you Billiamson and I went to - "

"Lincolnshire, yes." She gives him a tight-lipped smile that he knows disguises more.

"What?" he presses.

"It has to bother you."

"Sometimes I Floo to Diagon Alley and have lunch with George if he's on break ," he continues, eager to tell her his life in London, not dwell on Ministry happenings he knows he can't change. Billiamson thinks it's politics and publicity as much as anything else, similar to the way Scrimgeour had so desperately wanted Harry's endorsement.

"Ron - " she tries to interrupt him, but he continues.

"I think hes visite the shop a few more times."

"Ron, I know you're frustrated." Her voice is gentle.

"Billiamson and Proudfoot said they were analysts for two whole years before they ever went out with the tactical team. You have to work your way up." He tries to stay rational, despite how correct she is. "Harry's just...Harry."

"But you said Neville doesn't go out either and you told me he's like royalty." He finds it funny how hard she seems to be trying to get him worked up when he just wants to enjoy lunch with her..

"I'm fine, Hermione." He laughs dryly and finishes his sandwich.

"It doesn't seem right. You worked alongside them all summer and you said you performed just as well at training."

A crooked smile appears on his face as he realises suddenly her anger has as much to do with her own frustration as it does his. She's not just being sympathetic. She's angry on his behalf. For some reason, it makes him want to laugh. He's not in an argument with the Ministry, but he reckons if she had Dawlish face-to-face right now she'd give him an earful.

"Well, it does have it's advantages." He steals some crisps off her plate.

"Like?"

"Well, I've got better hours, for one. Harry won't be back until late tonight. And two, I don't have to spend all that time with Dawlish." Ron's nose wrinkles at the mere mention of his terrible boss and he reaches for more crisps.

"Harry won't be back until late?" Hermione raises her eyebrows and seizes his hand before he can steal anything else off her plate. He hadn't meant anything suggestive by the comment and laughs at the knowledge that her mind had gone there before him. The questions come in a hurry. What time does he gets off work and what does he want to do for supper. It all feels strange. Not the fact that he's making plans with her, but the nature of the plans they're making. Inquiring about the hours of his job, whether they want to dine out or eat in at his flat, having to Floo home to tell his parents they're going to postpone dinner at the Burrow. He feels like this one evening is a sudden glimpse at their future, a fact as terrifying as it is exciting.

They've done things like this before, of course. They'd spent weeks living together in Australia, making dinner plans and travel arrangements. That had all been like a dream world though. This is different. This is his job and their families. This is real. They're real.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

23 December 1998

He's only been back to the Burrow a handful of times since he and Harry moved into Grimmauld Place despite his mum's constant invitations. His father is the one that passes all of them along to him. He still hasn't gotten used to running into his dad at the Ministry. On the days they don't meet each other in the Atrium or outside the lifts, he receives a flurry of memos inviting him to supper. He's been so busy getting Grimmauld Place in order he's politely declined most of them until tonight.

He's practically ecstatic at the news Hermione's parents had delivered on her doorstep when he had picked her up. He knows his mum will be just as pleased to hear it. The Grangers will be joining them on Christmas Day. Their trip to see family in Cambridge will be the four days following Christmas. Hermione has been insistent he join them in Cambridge for at least one of the days since they left departed from her house on Stuart Avenue. He suspects there's more than one reason she wants him there. He remembers the uncomfortable lies they'd had to spin this summer and knows his presence would deflect some of the attention off her parents' absence.

"I'm just saying, my Granny said she wants to meet you."

"Yes, well who wouldn't want to meet me," he deflects with a joke as they walk down the lane to the Burrow. An afternoon with Hermione's Muggle grandmother ranks at the bottom of ways he would like to spend the holiday. He senses she's not overly keen on the trip either and another reason she wants him there is simply so they can share another day together.

"You'd like her, my Granny," Hermione insists just like she had this summer. "She's sharp. Plus she knows about this year."

"She knows you're a witch?" He stops in his tracks, surprised but pleased to hear that she's clued in more of her family.

"No, but she knows that things happened. She knows I went through something. I didn't tell her, but she knew."

"Did she see your arms?" he inquires softly, recalling how much she'd concealed the scars this summer. It's funny how long ago it already feels.

"She knew I was hiding something," Hermione informs simply. He wonders then whether she still hides the scars at Hogwarts and any uncomfortable conversations they'd triggered there. He'd never even bothered to ask her. "Come on." She tugs on his arm and continues walking toward the Burrow. They get close enough to where he can see inside and Ron feels that same odd feeling he had when they made plans last night . It feels strange not to live here anymore, to only come home for visits like these and then leave at the end of the night.

It's a pleasant evening with his family. His parents are eager to hear about how it is being Head Girl and to hear if she is struggling with the work as much as Ginny. Somehow it feels strange though. Maybe it's the fact that he knows he won't be going up the stairs at the end of the night, or the fact that half of the meal he grumbles with his father about how slow the lifts at the Ministry have been lately. He wonders if his mum detects it too, how he feels more like a visitor than someone who was living here a month ago. He says nothing when she fusses at him to take smaller bites or tend to the stain on his shirt and kindly declines her numerous offers that he and Harry stay for the night . Hermione remarks on his unusual passivity while he walks her home at the end of the night.

"I know it's gotta be hard for her, the holidays without Fred," he remarks stoically.

"And you?" she presses him carefully.

"What about me?" Ron bristles slightly at the insinuation even though he knows he shouldn't. The table had fallen eerily silent when his mum had mentioned how nice it would be to have everybody home for Christmas. While he had reflected on his brother then, about the absence he knew would permeate every part of the holiday, mostly he'd been thinking about how rare spending Christmas with his entire family had actually become over the last eight years. "Truth is, I haven't really spent Christmas at the Burrow since I started at Hogwarts," he admits as they wind their way through the town of Henley to her house. "There was just that one year when Fleur came and Percy showed up and ruined everything."

"Right." The words are a jarring reminder to the awful months sixth year where they'd hardly spoken to each other. They hadn't even wished each other a Happy Christmas, nevertheless exchanged gifts, or inquired how each other's holidays had gone.

"But, other than that, I spent most of my Christmases at Hogwarts with you and Harry."

"We did spend a lot of the holidays at Hogwarts, didn't we?" she reflects wistfully. They reminisce then about the twelve tall fir trees Hagrid would bring in, the marvelous decorations Professor Flitwick would cast, and how excited Dumbledore would get to pull his Christmas cracker. All the memories somehow feel like ancient history. Reflecting on them feels like a more vivid reminder than anything that his childhood is truly over. They pass the small pub where he and Hermione had gotten cozy days before. This is his Christmas holiday now. Trips to the pub, dinner with parents, and hours tangled in his new bedsheets.

"When you think back, it's not really been a good holiday for us." He continues to reflect, bringing up the fight over Harry's Firebolt and the nightmare of the Yule Ball.

"Can't forget the Christmas I turned myself into a cat," she laughs. Neither mention when his father had been attacked by Nagini or the painful events of last year, but he knows they're both thinking about the latter. Walking to her door, he promises to see her family in two day's time. Then he tweaks her nose playfully and kisses her once softly, trying to look ever-forward and not back.

"We'll make better memories, eh?"

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

25 December 1998

His brothers have been taking the piss all Christmas morning about ickle Ronniekins living on his own like a grown-up. He knows it comes with being the youngest, so he endures most of it with a grin and a friendly reminder he's an Auror and can hex their cocks off. Charlie and George are the worst. The last Sunday dinner he'd spent at the Burrow, his dragon-taming brother had taken part in an unnecessary amount of ribbing about whether he bought new mattresses and sound-proofed the walls at Grimmauld Place in anticipation of Hermione's arrival. His parents had thankfully been out of earshot when he made the remark, but he takes no chances today. Taking both brothers aside while Percy helps the Grangers with their coats, he makes them both promise to be on their best behaviour.

"Not a word about the article," Ron points to George, who loves bringing up Skeeter's article as often as possible around his parents.

"The one where you 'shagged like rabbits'?" he teases.

"In your 'love nest'?" Charlie follows up with equal amusement.

"No, they shagged like rabbits at Hogwarts. Come on now. Get it right." Ron's quite sure George could recite the entire article to Hermione's parents on cue if he wanted.

"Right, right," Charlie grins.

"Not a word!" Ron hisses.

"It'll be my Christmas gift to you," George promises just as the Grangers round the corner.

"Mum, dad, I don't think you've ever met Ron's brother Charlie," Hermione introduces her parents to Charlie, who shakes both their hands and immediately shows off his "O" in Muggle Studies and inquires about their dentistry practice.

Ron can't help himself from wrapping an arm around Hermione then and mumbling how beautiful she looks while Charlie continues to charm her parents. She's wearing the blue jumper his mum knitted her and she rolls her eyes at the compliment.

"It's a good colour." He admires the soft shade of grey-blue and the navy "H" emblazoned across her chest. It isn't quite as big and bulky as his jumper and fits a bit more snug to her body like the ones that Ginny wears. Still he knows it wouldn't be her first choice to wear to Christmas dinner no matter how pleased she admitted she'd been to see the gift from Mrs. Weasley under the tree this morning. "Thanks for wearing it," he whispers against her and presses his lips to the side of her head. "Mum was so pleased when she saw."

His mum is the one to remark that Hermione has never been to the Burrow over the Christmas holiday, commenting that they closest they've come to sharing a Christmas with her is the Closed Ward at St. Mungo's. He's worried then that the mention of spending Christmas in a hospital will alarm her parents, but her father just remarks that it is long overdue.

He knows his family is glad for the new additions at the table this year that help cover the gaping hole they all feel. Last night had been the worst and not even Ginny's many paper chains and the warbling of Celestina Warbuck could make them all stop thinking about him. Today is different though.

He sits on the sofa, between Harry and Bill, grinning at the happiness that fills his family home. Hermione and her mum are in the kitchen helping with the sprouts. He listens to his mum brag about how they come from her garden and explain how she charms it to produce vegetables in the winter. Hermione's father is making conversation with Ginny, asking about the Astronomy night labs Hermione complains about in her letters and the exhaustive problem sets in Arithmancy. With a touch of embarrassment, he hears his little sister explain that she's not enrolled in either course Ron tries not to eavesdrop too obviously when he hears Ginny explain most people only take about three or four N.E.W.T.S and that Hermione taking as many as she is is exceptional.

"Go on and brag on her if you want," Bill laughs and gives his brother a shove when he can tell his brother is no longer listening to him.

"Believe me, I have," Ron admits sheepishly.

"She's pretty special," Bill remarks. "I'm glad you found your way back to her." It's about the most his brother has ever spoken about last Christmas season. He remarks then about how pleasant the Grangers are and how pleased he is that they're here. "I don't know what we'd have done without them. Having company. Entertaining. It makes this Christmas a bit less grim." Ron knows he's thinking about the morose Christmas Eve they'd shared last night. It had been a bit like the days leading up to Fred's funeral back in the spring, when everyone had been so afraid to say his name or even allude to him.

Today is different. Today, nobody can stop smiling. It's little things like Mr. Weasley's jubilation when Hermione's father reveals exactly how an electric canopener works and big things like when Andromeda Tonks and baby Teddy make a surprise visit.

Andromeda apologises profusely for dropping by without warning. She explains she'd been paralyzed about how to best spend the holiday and couldn't bring herself to accept or decline his mum's invitation. His mum, who he knows understands the feeling all too well, simply waves her hand in the direction of the Grangers and insists the more the merrier. Ron can see the Grangers look a bit surprised by the presence of a baby with hair that seems to change colors each time he is passed to a different person. He seems to mimic each new hair colour he sees, with ginger obviously prevailing over any other. Harry is eager to hold the squirming baby first, laughing as his ginger hair turns black and then green. Ron listens as Hermione explains to her mum and dad that both Teddy's parents had died last May and eyes their stoic reaction. Despite the somber reminder about Tonks and Lupin, it's hard to stay sad around such a happy baby. Teddy's nonsensical babbling is incessant and everybody takes turns playing peekaboo with him and trying to make him laugh. Andromeda informs them how very much like his parents he is and tells them how early he'd cut his first incisor and the first time he'd started crawling. Ron notes the look in his oldest brother's eye when Fleur holds the baby and he wonders if next Christmas there won't be a Weasley baby to entertain them all.

His dad conjures another chair for Andromeda while they play with Teddy and his mum retreats to the attic and returns with a high chair that Ginny had last occupied sixteen years ago. They fuss over who should sit where at the giant table of fourteen when it's time for Christmas dinner. Ron wants to make sure the Grangers are seated next to someone they can talk to comfortably, Percy jokes that he wants to be out of range of the parsnips, which makes Ginny and George snort with laughter, and Harry challenges whether Ron and Hermione can even survive sitting at opposite sides of the table. Even Ron can have a laugh at himself. Today is about family, old and new, the part that's blood and the part that's not.

His father isn't one for toasts and speeches so Ron is thoroughly surprised when he stands up suddenly with a raised goblet. Ron squirms in his seat, knowing his father is going to address the obvious absence of Fred, Lupin and Tonks. He doesn't want his dad to bring down the festive mood that's filled the Burrow all afternoon. There is no melancholy reminder of everyone who is lost thought. His dad doesn't repeat the tired words Ron is so annoyed with hearing, about how everyone who is gone would want them all to smile and be happy. He simply remarks on the love those who are missing all held in their hearts for the people at the table. Hermione slides her leg to his thigh at the comment and the challenge to love each other a little more this year and not be afraid of it. When he closes with the words "Happy Christmas" everyone at the table echoes it loudly.

They stuff themselves with roast turkey and vegetables. They pull their Christmas crackers, don their paper crowns, and gorge themselves on his mum's sherry trifle and the Bakewell tart the Grangers had brought over.

The Grangers stay later than he expected, past numerous glasses of eggnog and mulled wine, past the point where he and Hermione feel like they need to stay and run interference in the conversation. So they disappear to the garden to finally exchange gifts.

He shivers slightly, more from nerves than the cold. He'd been so uncertain about what to get her he'd consulted both Harry and Billiamson. Billiamson had encouraged him to get something lighter, insisting vehemently that anything under a year isn't jewelry territory yet. Harry offered no help either and joked that if Ron went with jewelry he ought to just get her a "My Sweetheart" necklace.

He hands her the small box he'd wrapped himself and offers a tentative smile and she does the same. He tears open her box first, which is just as small as his, but wrapped much neater.

"There's a card too," she remarks quietly. "But you can read it later." He detects a nervousness he hasn't heard in her voice in months. He's secretly grateful the holiday celebration has made her just as nervous. He's not sure why. It just feels like something he needs to get right.

"Oh, wicked! Cannons tickets!" he remarks jubilantly, opening up her small box to realise there are multiple sets of tickets.

"I got them versus Falmouth and Wigtown. Ginny said those would be the best games."

"Yeah, they're the only teams we have a chance against!" he laughs, amazed but not surprised she has done her research.

"And I got them for this summer so...I could come too," she continues to explain the details of her gift with a puzzling hesitation.

She wants to go to a Cannons game with him.

He feels at this moment like the next twelve months might be the best year of his life and has a difficult time forming words. Thankfully, she saves him from stumbling over a reply by moving to open his gift.

She gasps when she finally tears the box open. He wants to disappear. It'll be like fifth year when she'd pretended to like his dreadful perfume. He knows nothing about fashion or jewelry. He should have listened to Billiamson.

"You don't - they're not - I can take them back!" he stammers before she can get out any more words.

"Why would I take them back?" She gazes at the earrings he'd bought in Muggle London three weeks ago.

"If you don't like them," he shrugs in embarrassment.

"Did Ginny help you pick them out?" She places the earrings, each shaped like an eight-pointed star, in the palm of her hand and looks to them in awe. "Is that a real diamond? Ron - "

"They reminded me of Australia," he explains in a hurry. "Remember those stars that night in the Nullarbor?" The revelation, much like Hermione's admission that she wants to attend a Cannons match with him, seems to render her speechless. He knows she remembers the night because she wrote about it in her letters this summer. You like them?"

"Like them?" She takes his face in her hands and kisses him. "I love them."

"I love you," he murmurs against her, pleased that the silly earrings seem to convey just how much he does.

Despite how somber Christmas Eve had been with his whole family reflecting on Christmas without Fred, he's wracked with a slight sense of guilt that it's the best Christmas Day he can recall in recent memory.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

28 December 1998

Despite how much he dreads the thought of an afternoon with Hermione's extended family, three days without seeing her already feels too long. Her directions are remarkably detailed. He is to Apparate to the Holford Pine in Old Pinetum in the Cambridge Botanical Garden. It's the first time he's Apparated blindly since Australia. Tthose had been special Ministry Apparation points. This is simply a place Hermione picked and wrote about in a letter. It's unnerving not knowing where he'll end up and he's glad to hear her voice immediately orient him.

"Right on time."

"If Auror training taught me anything it's that," he mutters as he tilts his head back to look at the the great pine tree above him. "How'd you pick this spot?"

"I came here with mum and dad this summer. I remembered it because it reminded me of that tree outside Viktor Krum's you climbed."

"Oh, the one that made my brain go fuzzy and wouldn't let me hear anything?"

"That's the one." Ignoring his grumbling, she laces her hand in his and they begin walking. The lies begin almost immediately. She picked this spot because it's close to the train station, which is where she told her family she was picking him up. He rode the Great Northern that left at 12:15 and stopped in Harlow. It's an hour and a half trip from King's Cross. He's almost tempted to ask how much his ticket cost and if she knows what platform he left on, but since she seems extremely anxious he says nothing. If her relatives ask he lives with Harry in a flat in London and they are in a two year programme in the Security Service while she is at Sixth Form College.

"Why am I not at this sixth college thing with you?"

"Because you're not at school with me this year and my parents and I tried to make our lies as...true as possible."

"Okay, so clue me in." Something about the fact that her parents helped invent this fabrication of his life makes him smile.

"Well, if anyone in my family asks, you both passed your GCSE exams and you and Harry are in an advanced apprenticeship through the college. If they ask, level 4."

"An advanced apprenticeship with the Security Service that's level 4," he parrots back. "Does that mean that MI5 thing your dad talks about?"

"Yes. That's where you and Harry work. We figure if they ask details, you can just tell them it's classified."

"Harry and I passed our GCSEs. We're in a two year programme in the Security Service with MI5. Level 4. You are at Sixth Form College." He repeats the information, hoping the words and terminology will feel more natural the more he says it.

She continues to feed him lies the entire walk to her grandmother's house, both about the parts of his life that are fictionalized as well as about her and her family. She tells him all the A-Levels she is taking. The list sounds on par with her exhaustive course load at Hogwarts. There's Law, Literature, two kinds of History, Politics, and French.

He has a hard time wrapping his head around how elaborate and complex the lies go. He's so busy trying to remember them all he barely pays attention to where she's leading him. It's an overcast day and he hates how lost he feels, not even sure which direction is which. That's something he's discovered about himself. After the last year, he hates not knowing where he's going. Daring to interrupt the litany of lies, he checks to see if his hunch is correct and they're moving north.

"Yes, we'll be over the river soon," she dismisses and then continues on with the fabrications. Each time he thinks that she is done, she remembers something else her parents have added about their life in Australia or what sport he played at school. There are few details they haven't covered. He wonders how involved her parents had been or if this was all Hermione's creation. When he dares ask what is true about him, she rattles off details about where he is from and where he lives.

"That's it?" The short list makes him frown.

"Well, everything about us is true," she shrugs simply. He doesn't know quite what she means by the comment considering they've spent the last thirty minutes discussing nothing but lies. When he asks for clarification, she rattles off a much longer list.

They've been officially dating for seven months. They write each other lots of letters. She spent Christmas Day with his family. They went to visit her parents in Australia together last 've known each other since they were eleven. He used to tease her. They bickered a lot. He broke her heart and dated another girl when they were sixteen.

"Was that detail really necessary to include?" he groans and comes to a halt at the revelation. They're paused at an intersection he can tell she is eager to get across and he can't tell whether her frustrated sigh is directed toward him or the traffic.

"Talking about you is easier than talking about anything else," she admits with a sigh. "When my parents and I talk about my relationship with you it's really quite easy to leave magic out of it. So….yes. It's necessary."

"So you've already talked about me?" He makes little attempt to hide his intrigue.

"Of course we've talked about you." She gives an exasperated sigh and pulls him across the intersection.

"Did I pass the boyfriend test?"

"What boyfriend test?" They begin walking down a stately tree-lined avenue that he knew he ought to have expected was the place Hermione's parents grew up.

"You know, the kind to see if your grandmother approves of me."

After thirty-five minutes Hermione finally stops walking. She pauses in front of a two-story white house with a large garden.

"Go and ask her yourself."

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

30 December 1998

Harry can hardly believe it. He's beside himself with laughter and rolling on the plush newly-purchased rug at Grimmauld Place. There's a fire roaring and Kreacher's long overdue steak & kidney pie is almost ready, but the only thing that matters right now is Ron lost at chess to Hermione's grandmother.

"I'm telling you, the old bird was good!" Ron insists. He's seating on the sofa and Hermione is on the floor in front of him.

"I still think you let her win," Hermione maintains, glancing behind at him skeptically..

"As if!" He scoffs at the notion. Truth is, Hermione had been spot on about her grandmother. The rest of her family he could have done without. They seemed nice enough, but they asked too many questions he didn't know how to answer and he didn't like how frequently Hermione and her parents had had to answer for him. He can't tell if her grandmother knows Hermione and her parents were fibbing most of the time, but he can tell she knew something. He can tell why it was so important to Hermione that he meet her.

Despite his initial protestations he'd been grateful for the opportunity to see her. He hates that ten days have already passed since he picked her up at King's Cross and he's left counting down the days like he did this August.

It strikes Ron that this night might be the first time the three of them have truly had alone since May. He's not sure why Ginny hadn't wanted to partake. She'd been invited, of course, but had taken a page out of George's book, commenting on how creepy the place felt.

Ron wonders if it's perhaps the dark times they spent here last year that make it feel more familiar. There's memories here they made together, just the three of them. Despite the painful reminders of Sirius that Ron knows Harry must feel, there's some good here too. He remembers how they all used to shout goodnight to each other from their respective bedrooms and how Hermione had tried to teach him to play the old out-of-tune piano in the parlor.

"But you survived?

"I survived meeting all the Muggles, yeah." Ron blows out a laugh. He and Hermione have already commented on how he doesn't call her parents Muggles anymore. Her parents are her parents. Maybe it's because they've been to the Burrow. Maybe it's because he's not so afraid of them anymore, especially now that he knows they spent a three hour car ride inventing lies to protect him.

"What have you been up to while I've been gone?" Hermione inquires of Harry.

"Working mostly," he sighs.

"Right. I keep forgetting you're not on holiday. Did they give you a hard time for taking off Monday?" She turns to Ron.

"When I told them I was having tea with my girlfriend's granny? What do you think?" he snorts and they a share a laugh about work and life and how much has changed. 

He thinks he could get used to this new reality.

\------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

31 December 1998

They celebrate New Year's at the Leaky Cauldron, making predictions about the coming year and reflecting on the one that has passed. The night had started at Grimmauld Place, but playing darts and drinking butterbeer with just the four of them seemed an awfully dull way to ring in the year so they had ventured out instead and ended up at Charing Cross Road.

The Leaky Cauldron had been dark and empty when they had first arrived, but it seemed to grow merrier each minute that gets closer to midnight. George and Lee are a merry addition and he's pleased when Neville, Dean, Seamus, and even Hagrid stop by for part of the evening. The dingy pub fills up quickly, much to Tom's surprise. Ron knows New Year's has never been much of a holiday in the Wizarding World. At Hogwarts it had meant little more than a special feast in the Great Hall and at the Burrow it was little more than an excuse to stay up to midnight. He suspects this year is different because people can truly be hopeful and know with confidence that the coming year will be different than the last.

"I can't believe mum let you come out, Ginny," Ron remarks over the din.

"Well, she thought we were just celebrating at Grimmauld Place," his sister reminds.

"Oi but that clock of hers will say different though!" George reminds with a hearty laugh. Ron suspects he and Lee have had more than a few drinks before they joined them. "It'll say trouble!"

"Better than mortal peril," Harry snorts and it's a testament to the healing powers of time that they call can joke about the last year.'

"Speaking of parents." Hermione's voice is soft when she tugs on Ron's arm. "Did you hear mum and dad ask what time I'd be back tomorrow when we left?"

He doesn't catch the intent of her question, but everybody else at the booth does, despite Hermione's attempt at privacy, and they all respond before he can. Lee whistles, George makes a gesture that leaves little to the imagination and Ginny, with her 1 AM curfew, just looks at them both with scathing jealousy.

"I did. I thought they were talking to me," he mutters quietly, ignoring the gallery.

"Why would they ask what time you'd be back tomorrow?" she laughs.

"Well, in case I came by tomorrow," he shrugs innocently.

"That's not what they meant." Hermione barely moves her lips when she speaks, an unsuccessful effort to disclude anyone else from the conversation .

"Oh." He's not quite sure what to do with the knowledge that the Grangers have given their approval to spend the night with him. Fortunately, everyone else at the table does.

"Ronnie's gonna get some!"

"Think you might want to stay at the Burrow tonight, Harry."

"Certainly might get some more sleep."

"Are they that loud? The way they rowed at Hogwarts, wouldn't surprise me."

"Enough," Ron halts the ribbing. He and Hermione have both grown used to it by now, of course, but the liquor seems to increase how crass the comments are and he can see how fiercely she's blushing. Next time he knows she'll save such revelations for private.

He's grateful when George clears his throat and announces that he has big news. Ron's not sure what to expect, halfway convinced his inebriated brother is simply about to let out a loud belch or declare to the table that he's going to take a shit. He's not prepared for the news that he's going to reopen the joke shop.

It's all he can talk about their entire walk back to Grimmauld Place once the revelry is over. He's not sure why they choose to walk. It hadn't been a conscious choice. Harry and Ginny Floo home after the clock strikes midnight, George and Lee set off to find another party and he and Hermione had just started walking. She holds his arm and just listens while he babbles.

He thinks its terrific news. He's suspected it since they'd gone to visit the shop and he'd started that job on the South Side. Did she know he had been helping Florean Fortescue's widow reopen the ice cream shop?

He picks his way through the theater district and across Shaftsbury Avenue. He brushes past the Muggles with top hats and glittering glasses staggering drunkenly down the street.

He wants to help. He's not sure how he'll manage, but he wants to help. He supposes there are always weekends and if he stays as an analyst then he will be done at five and can Floo there after work.

He winds them past the British Museum and cuts through Russell Square, completely oblivious to the way Hermione gazes admiringly at him at each confident turn.

For forty-seven minutes, he talks about nothing but his brother's decision to reopen his shop.

Hermione remarks that it's the most excited she thinks she's seen him all year.


	8. January

1 January 1999

"Happy New Year."

The words sound to him softly from across his pillow. He's forgotten how incredible it is to wake up beside her and he grins, pleased by the thought that once she finishes at Hogwarts the new year will feature a lot more mornings just like this one.

"Happy New Year," he murmurs back. The soft kiss they share is the first of what he hopes will be many in the coming year.

Even though she'd mentioned it numerous times on their way home night, she comments yet again on how impressed she'd been at how well he'd navigated his way back from Charing Cross Road. He confesses that after he'd put her on the train to Hogwarts back in September he'd done nothing but wander around the city all afternoon. He likes walking the city. After so much time spent on the move in the last year, he reckons it's becomes a part of him. He likes learning his way around and knowing he'll never be lost. The comment just yields another kiss. He suspects, based on the way she'd pounced on him last night and his memories from navigating Brisbane the same way when they went to fetch her parents, that knowing his way around a Muggle city is a trait she for some reason finds attractive.

It had been quite the way to ring in the new year. Despite not arriving home until after midnight, they'd been awake for several more hours. He didn't know whether it was the celebratory champagne, the general revelry and festive air, or perhaps simply the hopeful thought of all the new year held. They'd both been a bit wilder than ever before, trying new positions, muttering all kinds of things between the sheets and doing it three times before finally succumbing to sleep.

He'd been afraid their first time sharing sleep in months would be a disaster. Of course, they'd fought for covers and he'd ended up pushed to the edge of the mattress on more than one occasion, but it had been familiar. Like the first time he set foot back in the Great Hall each September. He's struck again with the same feeling that had overtaken him this May. She feels like home more than any other place in the world.

"I like starting the year with you." She smiles against his lips.

"Me too." He slips his hand beneath his old Cannons shirt to rub her back softly. "Did you sleep all right?"

"Better than all right." She nestles closer to him with a smile and he suspects that, much like himself, despite the war over the covers that she's just had the best night of sleep in months. He doesn't want to wreck the pleasant mood of the morning, but he senses it's the best time to ask the question she never answers in letters.

"Do you still have nightmares?" he asks softly, hand still tracing circles across her shoulder blades and down her back.

"None that I really remember," she admits. "But I know I still have them because I wake up…" Her voice drifts, but she doesn't need to finish. She wakes up scared. She wakes up sweaty. She wakes up and it's all happening. He knows it all too well. It hasn't happened lately, but the dreams had certainly come back when he was at training. He can't even imagine being at Hogwarts where she's surrounded by so many reminders of the carnage of last May. The sight of any more than a paper cut still reminds him of the thick pools of blood when Snape bled out.

He apologises and she just dismisses him with a laugh of all things.

"Not your fault."

"I'm sorry I'm not there." It's a stupid admission, he knows. He'd hardly be able to sleep in the same bed as her even if he was at Hogwarts, but he knows sharing a bed helps.

"Not your fault.," she repeats again and it's done. They don't dwell. The simple acknowledgment that the nightmares still occur seems to be enough. He thinks they always will. They cuddle beneath the sheets some more and talk about how they're going to spend the first day of the new year. She plans a day with her mum and dad, talking about a trip to the cinema and dinner in Reading. He picks up right where he did last night and tells her he'll track down George and see what he can do to help him get started on reopening the shop.

"You're really excited," she remarks, much like she had last night.

"I'm just excited for him," he shrugs simply. "And I know mum and dad have been really worried about him."

"Right." She's not quite laughing at him, but he can hear the mocking tone to her voice.

"What?"

"Just your mum and dad."

He doesn't reply or try to deny it. He has been worried about how aimless his brother has been since May. For months he'd done nothing but live at the Burrow. He never really officially moved out. He spent some time at Shell College and a couple weeks up in Wales with Charlie. Lately he's split his time between Lee's flat and Percy's sofa. Ron thinks maybe the thought of staying in one spot scares him. Settling down means moving on without Fred, which Ron understands is a frightening concept. It's why Ron had been so excited when George took the job waiting tables and sweeping floors and why he'd been so cheered by the revelation that he had been talking with the elderly widow of Florean Fortescue. Ron suspects the old woman's decision to reopen her late husband's shop has played as much a role as anybody into George's decision to reopen the shop.

"It's great news," Hermione says, moving a hand to his chest. "I'm happy you're so happy."

"You make me happy." He knows the revelation is hardly groundbreaking, but he likes telling her out loud. He dreads the thought of sending her back to Hogwarts where scrolls of parchment and two year old pictures are all he has.

"I can tell," she laughs, motioning to the prominent bulge between his legs.

"Not just like that." He rolls on top of her. "Naughty."

"I'm naughty?" she laughs some more and reminds him who had taken their clothes off before even getting up the stairs last night.

"I just wanted to get out of my trousers," he insists and reminds her then who had suggested doing it a third time

They tease each other about the night, recalling things they'd both said and done with a carefree laughter he wishes could last longer.

He knows this morning might very well be the last moment he has alone with her for months. He hates finding himself in this familiar territory, counting down the hours until he has to say goodbye again.

He's genuinely surprised they haven't spent every moment they have together in this bed. He'd joked with Williamson about how they were going to shag like rabbits and had suggested that Harry might want to live elsewhere this whole week. He has, of course, missed this, but he's thoroughly surprised how much it's all the rest of being with her that he's missed more. It's the laughter and the conversation as much as it is the kisses and caresses. It's sharing what happened each day with her as much as it is feeling the curves of her body beneath his fingertips. These ten days have reminded him more than ever of how much he misses his best friend.

2 January 1998

Much like in August , her parents let them spend their last day together. They choose to spend the day in London with Harry and Ginny. Not just to Diagon Alley, but the neighborhood around Grimmauld Place that he and Harry have yet to explore much.

"We know where all the takeaway places are," Harry laughs.

"Did you know this canal was here?" Hermione challenges.

"Of course I knew it was here," Ron challenges indignantly. 

"And all these markets?" Ginny's eyes widen at the sight of the crowded Muggle market. There are street vendors selling clothes and books and art and music and what looks to Ron like a whole lot of junk.

"Charles Dickens lived in Camden, you know," Hermione informs and eyes a bookseller he knows she'd like to visit.

"Who?" He and Ginny both inquire at the same time. Harry and Hermione both laugh, but Ron can see how much she likes the eclectic neighborhood that's only ten minutes away from his front step. It's not really his kind of place. The people here all seem a little different than the normal blokes he passes on the way to work. Still he's already planning a date in his mind. Breakfast along the canal and a trip to see the book sellers. She can tell him about whoever Charles Dickens is.

"Mum and dad didn't believe me the first time I told them you lived in Camden Town," Hermione informs.

"Why?"

"Just because it's...a different neighborhood," Hermione says delicately, eyeing the unusual group of people walking several paces in front of him. One has bright pink hair like Tonks. The other has dark hair like Harry, but it's standing up straight on his head like spikes. Some are dressed all in leather. Some are all in denim. There's no way to blend in or stand out because everybody looks different. He supposed it's not the worst place in London two wizards could live.

"Technically we live way East of the High Street so I don't think we actually live in Camden Town," Ron comments.

"I like it," Hermione remarks. Ron eyes her as she speaks, wondering if she's thinking about life after Hogwarts too. About this neighborhood being her neighborhood. Their neighborhood.

He tries to remember a time back in fifth year, sixth year even, when he and Harry had imagined living life as Aurors after finishing school. This had never been a part of it. Holding hands and planning dates with Hermione. He tries to recall the wanderings of his mind when he was fifteen. She hadn't been absent from his plans. He and Harry would fight dark wizards and be flatmates and Hermione would just be there like she always was. He reckoned his conflicted fifteen year-old brain hadn't sorted it out beyond that.

He brushes the back of her hand with his thumb lightly and she just grins up at the delicate action. He slows down to a halt and waits until Harry and Ginny move out of earshot.

"Think your mum and dad will let you spend the night again?" He slides his hands up her arms, thinking about how incredible it had been to fall asleep with her again and to wake up beside her this morning.

"If I asked...probably, yes." Her immediate reply tells him all he needs to know..

"But you won't ask." He's not angry as he says the words, just curious.. 

"I don't want to." She smiles and gives a simple shrug. He frowns at the insinuation that she doesn't want to spend the night together so she clarifies. " It's just….seeing you this holiday, on your own. Away from your mum and dad - "

"It's not as if they're on another continent. I see dad every day at work."

"I know, but it's different. You have to make an effort to see them now."

"I still see mum every week."

"But I just got them back," she admits softly. As her voice trails off he realises what she's trying to say. She just got them back and in six months she'll be saying goodbye again and embarking on her own.

He draws her to him in a comforting hug then, causing Ginny to turn around and roll her eyes. He's comforted by the simple knowledge that she's looking to the future too.

3 January 1999

It should be easier this time. Putting her on the train ought to be simpler than it was in September, but if anything he thinks it's worse. They hadn't known what to expect this summer, but they know now. The thought of monthly Hogsmeade weekends is hardly comforting. While he's grateful for the few hours they get to share each month, they're hardly the same as seeing her every day.

"Think they'd let me and Harry ride up with you?" He's only half joking.

"You'd have a lonely ride back."

He doesn't tell her it would be worth it because he knows, even if he could get a ticket, it would be a glum ride up. It would be like a six hour version of this moment on the platform, knowing goodbye is coming but neither of them wanting to say it.

"When did you say the first weekend was?"

"End of the month."

He's embarrassed at how long three weeks already feels. The memory of waking up beside her on New Year's is still so vivid in his memory. He hasn't loosened his hands from her waist. He wants to ask her if she'll ask McGonagall for another day. He wants to ask her if she'll check the secret passageways so maybe he can sneak in. But he just holds onto her a little while longer while parents say goodbye to their children. It's four months until Easter holiday.


	9. February

13 February 999

Six weeks pass with nothing but letters. Things change in the Auror Department after numerous visits from Kingsley and, what Ron surmises may have something to do with a report he wrote up last month analyzing the metrics used this summer to track escaped Death Eaters. He finds himself working alongside Harry again, the only analyst on a new experimental task force. He's pleased with the change, but exhausted at the end of each day. After months of watching Harry go out on missions, he's finally included in an intelligence gathering operation in Birmingham. His enthusiasm is tempered by the fact that it falls on the January Hogsmeade weekend he and Hermione have been counting down to for weeks since he put her on the train at King's Cross.

Thankfully, the February weekend is only a few weeks later. It's a bitterly cold day. The kind of cold that would keep him inside if he didn't have the prospect of seeing Hermione. He waits impatiently at the gates of Hogwarts with Harry, hands stuffed into his pockets and his face buried into the upturned collar of his jacket as much as possible.

"Oi! It's cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey!" Ron grumbles, shifting his weight back and forth in an attempt to keep warm. Harry laughs about how he should have worn his scarf. Ron chides that he sounds like Hermione.

"Well, I'm sure she'll tell you the same thing in a moment," Harry notes with a grin as both girls come into view.

The cold doesn't seem to dampen Hermione's enthusiasm. She pounces on Ron immediately. He laughs at the way she nearly knocks him off his feet. A month and a half without being able to hold her. It's as long as he spent at training at the start of the year. He hates that being apart from her has become so routine. So he repeats words he's written in every letter for nearly a year just because she's here and he wants to say them out loud.

"I missed you," he mutters into her neck. The air is raw and she is wrapped in so many layers he can hardly feel her beneath them all. He makes a joke about how small she seems and quips that she better be eating enough. The look he catches in Ginny's eyes tells him there's some truth to his joke, which makes him uneasy.

Hermione clings to him the entire walk to Hogsmeade. Where propriety would usually have her simply lace her gloved hand in his, she entwines herself around his arm completely and nuzzles into him in a way that suggests more than trying to hide from the chill. She repeats how much she's missed him too, stopping more than once to exchange a kiss before they even reach the High Street. He has a hard time recalling the last time she'd been so openly affectionate and he hates himself for immediately questioning what is fueling it. Because it's more than simply being away from her for six weeks. This isn't like the way they'd reunited in October after six weeks apart. It's more like the way he'd devoured his first real meal after months of living off mushrooms and stolen cans of soup. Like she's been starved of social interaction.

Recalling the look Ginny had given him, he tries to feel her back and ribs through all the layers she has on, thinking he'd like to see her without her clothes on for more than the obvious reason. When he gets a private word with his sister at the Three Broomsticks, she reveals what he expected. Much like his, Hermione's letters have slowed to only one a week. They're brief, focused, outlining the activities of her day like she's filling out an after-action report. I love and miss you. The frequency of the letters and formulaic words don't bother him as much as what he worries they convey. She doesn't have time.

"She never comes to dinner," Ginny reveals while they wait for drinks at the bar. "She lives in the library. I swear, I don't know when she eats."

"Have you said anything to her?"

"She just tells me she does eat, but look at her!" Ginny glances over her shoulder to the corner booth where Hermione is talking with Harry. Ron wonders what they're talking about

"She mentioned the girls your year were having a go at her again," he recalls the despondent letters she'd written him last month.

"Only because she lives in the library."

"Do you call them on it?" he frowns at the insinuation that Hermione somehow deserves the venom of such petty girls.

"Of course I do!" his sister looks offended at the mere insinuation she wouldn't defend Hermione. "I Bat-Bogey-Hexed the lot of them." A proud grin forms instinctively on his face. "There is some truth to it all though. She doesn't…do anything except go to the library and go to class."

He frowns at the revelation of what he'd feared most. He'd long imagined this is what Hermione would have been like if she hadn't befriended him and Harry. He feels like a git for not picking up on it in her letters. All she'd mentioned was the jealous Seventh Year girls and a couple challenging essays. He asks what happened to walks around grounds with Luna. She informs him Hermione says it's the looming spectre of the examinations now that they're only four months away. They've started taking a toll on her. Ginny carries over the plate of drinks while Ron summons over the plate of chips and pasties.

Sharing drinks at the Three Broomsticks is as pleasant as ever. The conversation is better, more familiar than their last few weekends when so many names and stories had been unfamiliar. The girls both beam with pride over the new task force they insist Ron and Harry helped create. They ask about Camden Town and if the boys have been back to the canal. Hermione teases whether they've had to call Kreacher in to clean Grimmauld Place yet this year. And asks if Ron has done much cooking. Ginny is eager to hear about the progress of the shop and how frequently he spends the night at George's. Somehow they spend over an hour without ever talking about Hogwarts.

They walk around the snow-covered Hogsmeade streets hand in hand once they finish their drinks. He stops in Honeyduke's to buy her something sweet.

"Promise me you'll eat it?"

"Why wouldn't I eat it?" she laughs.

"Cause you've got your nose in a book," he tries to tease, unsure how to broach the subject. Fortunately, she broaches it for him.

"You've been talking to Ginny, haven't you?" He can hear her tone change and see the harsh lines in her face form.

"She just said you've been skipping meals."

"I eat, Ron!" she challenges so loudly several other customers turn to look at them.

"You've lost weight. I can tell."

"I'm fine," she replies defensively, lowering her voice to a whisper.

"I'm just worried about you." He pays for the sugar quills and bonbons. Having money when he goes to Hogsmeade is still something he's not quite used to yet and he loves spending money on her. "You have to take care of yourself."

"Says the man who only sleeps three hours a night." He knows she's remarking on the late hours he pulls in the shop with George after a full day of work. Her scathing challenge to him just shows how defensive she is. He can tell now Ginny has really pressed her about it. Eager to show her he's not trying to attack her, they go next door to the cafe in the back of Tomes and Scrolls to sit and talk someplace quiet and warm.

"Is it just the exams?" he asks softly.

"They're not just exams," she replies woodenly. "They're the whole reason I'm here." The words very clearly show what Ginny had described to him, the girl who spends all her time revising and does little else. "And if I don't…" She doesn't need to fill in the blanks between her stunted sentences. "It'll all have been for nothing, do you get it?"

"It won't be for nothing." He reaches for her hand across the table.

"Yes, it will! My N.E. are the whole reason I came back here without you!" She shakes her head like she's laughing at herself. "I didn't have to...and if I don't…it's like it'll all have been for nothing." She doesn't need to fill in the blanks between her stunted sentences. He gets it. She's second-guessing her decision to be at Hogwarts. Much like he often finds himself second-guessing his decision no to be. "I could have been with you and Harry all this time. Helping you." She admits to things Ron had tried to get her to see all summer. Somehow hearing them now doesn't give him the same satisfaction it might have this summer. This is Hermione. Her conviction is probably one of the things he loves about her most. He wants to know what is causing this melancholy change. Whether it simply the stress and missing him or something more.

"This is what you've wanted since you were eleven," he assures. "I know it's hard right now, but - "

"It's impossible!" she laments. "There's not enough time! There's never enough hours in the day! It's absolutely impossible!" She drops her head in her hands. "I know I shouldn't have taken this many. I know you told me not to." He hates seeing this self-doubt and regret he's not used to seeing from her.

"Well, ignore me," he scoffs. "I just said all that because I wanted to shag you senseless every day." The crude comment actually makes her smile like he hoped. "You're going to get top marks and you're going to be just fine," he states confidently and reaches across the table to grab a biscuit from her plate. "You just need to stop and ask yourself...what would Ron Weasley do?" She laughs quietly at his humorous assurance. He knows it's a lame attempt to make her feel better, but he also knows the Hermione existing right now at Hogwarts is the same eleven year old who hadn't had any friends, who never laughed, and did nothing but study. "What do you for fun?"

"Write to you." Her immediate reply renders them both silent.

"Well, writing you and having a wank's about all I do for fun too." The crass but comforting comment makes her shake with laughter. She asks him to tell her more about work. It's more of a plea really. She wants a distraction, he knows. She demands to know about all the things he tells her he doesn't have time to put in a letter.

So he catches her up to speed on all the large changes in the Auror Department. All the details he didn't have time to put in a letter. About Kingsley's visits in January and the new task force and the fact that he's still the only analyst on the team. He tells her about his first time out with the tactical team last month and tries not to let onto how exhausting it has been splitting his time between work and the shop. He knows he should be pleased. They've finally moved him into a position where he can do some actual good, but his increased responsibilities leave him less able to help his brother and less able to write her. Not to mention it had, of course, caused him to miss last month's Hogsmeade visit.

She likes hearing about his work and the changes he's helped initiate. He tells her how the last few wily old Death Eaters are harder than ever to track. They've made no progress at all in ascertaining anything about those followers of Voldemort who still remain at large. They have no idea if there's any type of organization or command structure. He tells her details about the intel gathering operation last month in Birmingham and their plans for another mission soon. Talking about it all seems to pull Hermione out of her head, far away from school and gossip and examinations. She asks what happened to the trail on Rookwood.

"It's gone completely cold." Ron does little to disguise his annoyance.

"Have you followed up on any of the leads on Walpurgis?"

"Well, we don't really have any," he sighs. "We could if I wasn't the only bloody analyst on the task force - "

"It's because you're such - "

"Such a good analyst, I know," he repeats what she does in every one of her letters.

"And you have to have some kind of lead after what you found in Birmingham."

"Nothing concrete yet."

"What about the legislation you said Kingsley was going to draft?"

"Oh, it'll take two bloody months just to get that read in the Wizengamot!" he snorts with laughter. "It takes months to get anything done in this job."

"It can't be that bad. Harry says he quite enjoys it."

"Of course, he does," Ron scoffs. "He's the only one who gets to go with the tactical team every time.".

"You got to go last month."

"Even Billiamson notices how much they favour him." He finally admits to the frustration that has eaten away at him for months in his new job. He loves Harry and he's happy his best friend seems to have found his niche here in the Department, but he hates sitting on the sideline and having to pester Harry for scraps of information from each operation.

"You're on the task force too," Hermione reminds him, "and you've only officially been an Auror for three months."

Her touch brings him back and reminds him they only have a few hours together so he should stop complaining about work. He already fears his negativity permeates his letters too much. It's not that he doesn't enjoy being an Auror. It's how much of the job still seems to be dictated by protocol and tradition and how it all used to be. Harry doesn't seem as bothered as he does by it all. He loves being an Auror and hardly ever seems to mind the endless briefings and paperwork.

"I just want to do more," he confesses. "All we ever do is...react. We don't...I just feel like we could do so much more."

"How do you mean?"

"Well, we could use so many more types of collection systems. We mostly just do direct surveillance." Hermione raises her eyebrows in question and for, what Ron can tell is one of the first times in her life, explanation about what he means. "You know, instead of just waiting to follow the targets whenever they appear. We could do more active patrols in the areas they've been sighted or even send in people to gather information in long-term assignments. We could do open-source intel too. We should definitely have more than one analyst monitoring the wireless and the Muggle news. Not to mention the process we use to evaluate HVTs and make our threat models is so outdated - " Ron stops talking as he sees Hermione's lips curl into a smile. "What?"

"Nothing."

"What?" he presses.

"I'm impressed." She curls her leg around his beneath the table and something tells him it impresses her the same way knowing his way around London does.

"Well, I did learn some things in training," he laughs. "I don't know, it just feels like we wait for things to happen instead of actually trying to prevent them."

"You mean you're reactive instead of proactive?"

"Yeah, I guess. It's just not the way we used to do things."

The utterance is filled with the kind of nostalgia he's only hinted at in his letters. He always tells her what a difference she would make on the task force. That if it were just the three of them, they'd have Nott and Rookwood and everybody helping them in Azkaban in a week.

"How is George?" she changes the subject, likely knowing it will lift his spirits immensely. He eagerly tells her how they fixed up the flat and how George is living there on his own now. He's spent more than a few Friday nights on the sofa there so he can wake up early and spend Saturday helping his brother. He'd never realised how much work went into their inventory of goods. He's learning all the charms for Sunny Spells and Extendable Ears. They spend hours in the shop working together. He's gotten to know his brother in a way he never knew before. Sometimes they even talk about Fred. Silence falls across the table then. Not the uncomfortable kind of silence that used to reign whenever someone mentioned his dead brother, but a peaceful moment to reflect.

"Worlds had to be in travail that the meanest flower might blow," she mutters softly after a moment, her thumb gently grazing the back of his hand. The quizzical utterance makes him tilt his head in question. "It's just a Muggle author," she explains. "Something I read this summer."

"What's it mean?"

"That sometimes something exquisite can come from...a tragedy," she states simply, halting the movement of her hand in his to look up at him, purposefully letting the words hang in the air.

He's pretty sure she's talking about their own relationship as much as the new one he's forged with his brother, but says nothing. Awed at her ability to articulate such perfect words and recall quotes from Muggle authors as easily as she spits out the ingredients to a Pepperup Potion, he just laughs softly to himself and shakes his head.

"Worlds in travail," he mulls over the words, thinking about the world twelve months ago. He hates that he can recall it like it was yesterday. They don't speak about it, but he knows she's reflecting on it too.

They make promises to both be better about taking care of themselves. She'll stop taking her meals to the library. He'll get more sleep and stay positive about work. They'll both try to write more.


	10. March

1 March 1999

Two letters. That's all Ron is able to manage for the rest of February. Despite his promises to write more, everything in his life takes on a frenetic new pace once his brother's shop opens back up. He's already busier than ever on the task force and now it feels like he's somehow fallen into having a second job. He loves helping his brother. He's closer to George than he's ever been. Sometimes he can't believe they have it ready to open again, but it's an exhausting commitment.

Opening weekend has him completely bone-tired and ready to drop. With most of their clientele still at Hogwarts, Ron can hardly believe it when George says this wasn't even that busy a weekend. The decision to take the day off work on Monday isn't a difficult one. He reckons he deserves it. Plus it's his birthday and he wants to have a lie in.

It speaks to the habits that have formed since New Years that even on his birthday and his day off he goes to see his brother, who he knows won't be taking the day. He assumes his brother will appreciate the gesture but decline the offer to help. Instead, George informs him that when you're an entrepreneur there are no days off and puts him to work. Ron whinges to his brother, but obliges his requests to clean. He'd spent his birthday last year wondering if he'd ever see his family again so he doesn't mind spending the day with him, even if it is doing manual labor.

He's completely knackered when he finishes and arrives back to Grimmauld Place. All he can think about is putting his head on the pillow and sleeping until dinner. He'll go to the Burrow and celebrate with his mum and dad. He'll eat roasted beef and chocolate trifle. It'll be a proper celebration like he hasn't had since he was ten years old.

When he hears Hermione's voice and sees her sitting at the edge of his bed, he's thoroughly convinced she's a figment of his imagination. She looks maddeningly smug and self-assured wearing one of his old Cannons shirts that hangs perfectly off her shoulder.

"How are you here?" he asks incredulously, still not sure this is real. He's been so sleep-deprived lately he's fairly sure it's a figment of his imagination, which is particularly fond of picturing Hermione in all kinds of situations just like this.

"I asked," she states simply with a shrug.

He has asked her in nearly every letter since this fall to ask McGonagall if she can leave the castle again like she did in October. To invoke her status as Head Girl, a war hero with top marks and impeccable character, for a special privilege. When he's being particularly unimaginative he just says she should tell McGonagall she's nearly two years older than most of the other Seventh Years and could probably teach half the classes at Hogwarts. She never even dignifies his requests, written or audible, with a reply. He wonders if she's been saving it for his birthday all along. She makes a quip about how gobsmacked he looks, his mouth still wide open in surprise.

He walks slowly to the bed and asks her aloud if this is all real.

"Happy Birthday." Her voice is a soft whisper and her lips hover over his as she speaks the words. She turns her head away when he tries to kiss her though and instead wordlessly wiggles out of her jeans. He's not sure whether she means to make it as seductive as she does, but he can feel his trousers tighten. Fortunately, her hands move to his belt next. She unbuckles it silently and methodically and he can tell now she's being painfully deliberate about all this and is rather enjoying himself.

"How long do you have?" He recalls the last visit like this they'd shared had been bound by his six-hour pass from training.

"I just have to be back by midnight." All Ron can think is how much sex they can have before then.

He'd thought nothing could top the way she'd pounced on him on New Year's, but he senses this will be something special. She's planned this. The way she'd be perched there on his bed. The smile on her face. The shirt she'd be wearing. He leans over to kiss her again, but again she retreats, making it clear she's going to tease this out of him. It seems a rather cruel thing to do to him on his birthday and he lets her know with a pitiful whimper, reminding her how long it has been since they've been together.

"You think I don't know that?" she replies.

In the last year of being together, he's learned the different inflections of her voice he'd never known before. There's the flirtatious lilt that still takes him by surprise, the soft purr when he knows he's doing something good, the rare whinge that only sounds when he's inside her. Her tone this evening is something else entirely. It's calm and collected. The complete opposite of how he feels right now in a million ways. Yet he can feel her body humming with energy, inviting him to touch her, but unwilling to relinquish control just yet. Even when the only article of clothing left to remove are his socks and she lays back on the bed, his in a way nobody had ever been or ever would, he knows she still is the one in control.

He reckons she always will be. He'll spend every day of his life trying to please her and it won't be a second wasted.

So he whispers to her how much he loves her and climbs atop the bed. He's spent months dreaming of having her beneath him and doesn't even know where to begin. When he lowers his lips to her neck and trails them down her body, he can see she's finally done teasing this out of him. As soon as his hands and mouth begin to go to work, she gives herself to him completely.

Because she is his and he is hers and he thinks sometimes that's what makes being with her so great. All they want to do is please each other. They belong to each other completely and, the more he thinks on it, the more he realizes they always have. Even Harry's angry knock at the door and protective inquiry about who is in the bed with Ron making those sounds doesn't disrupt them.

They laugh about it later beneath the sheets, the ridiculous notion that Ron could be with anybody else, and again that afternoon while they're celebrating with chocolate cake. She's entwined on his lap and every bite of birthday cake is followed by a kiss or caress. It's the first Harry's truly seen them like this, together in a very visible - and, according to Harry, nauseating - way. This is all hands in places Ron knows he's not used to seeing and tongues much more active than in the chaste kisses he gives her at the Burrow.

"I cannot believe she let you out again to shag your boyfriend!"

"To celebrate his birthday," Hermione corrects.

"Oh, I heard the celebrating," Harry snipes. "Heard it as soon as I walked through the bloody door." He reminds them again that hearing his two best friends fornicating is about as unpleasant as picturing Hagrid doing Madame Maxime. "I'm telling you, scarred for life, I am!"

"You know what I just realized," Ignoring Harry, Ron turns his attention back to Hermione and gives her a devilish smile. "It's been ten months since you kissed me."

The declaration has accompanied each letter he's written to her on the first of the month. It's the first time he's ever been able to tell her that in person. She seems to detect it too and soon they're kissing again with even more reckless abandon than before.

"I see you're marking the occasion the same way." Harry averts his eyes and looks down at the cake on his plate. "By having a snog in front of me."

"Just think, Harry, if we'd wised up sooner you might have had to see this every day." Ron wraps his arms around Hermione tighter, loving the way she feels on his lap, not caring if his best mate would rather not see it.

"I can stomach seeing it more than I can hearing it." Harry grimaces at the sound of their lips smacking the same way Ginny does. " I'm just saying, in the future we might want to look into a permanent Silencing Charm or something."

The future is so close now that hinting at this being their life in a few months doesn't seem so foreign anymore. Three months. That's all they have until this can be his reality.

20 March 1999

It's been three weeks since his birthday surprise. He wants to keep the memory vivid in his mind. The wonderful disbelief of seeing her there on his bed, the passion and love that had filled every minute, much to Harry's chagrin. Three weeks is all it has been. He wonders just how this reunion weekend, the one he's been counting down the days to since the moment she left, has gotten so fouled up. He reckons it was her revelation about Easter holiday that started it.

"I'm sorry you won't get a shag, Ron!" she harps at his disappointment over the news that she wants to stay at Hogwarts for the week-long holiday.

"You know it's more than that," he mutters back. They're at their usual small table in the back of Tomes and Scrolls. He hates having this argument in public, even if there is only one other person having tea, and wishes they were somewhere more private.

"Well, that's all you ever write about in your letters - "

"It's not all I write!" he counters defensively.

" - so how am I supposed to know!"

"Well, I'm sorry! I won't tell you how much I want you anymore," he snaps and he can see the immediate guilt on her face. Nobody speaks for a long time. Finally, he apologizes for the slant his letters so frequently take. He doesn't mean to do it. He starts off telling her about his day or how much he misses her and they just turn into that. She's never told him before to stop. They've both been better about writing, but too often he detects a frustration lingering behind her letters. She laments the lack of uninterrupted time to revise and constantly complains about not having enough hours in the day. He hates the thought that maybe he is an interruption too. He hates that asking her about taking time off has somehow turned into a fight. He doesn't know if it's simply stress or something more. "I'm sorry you think that's the only reason I miss you."

"It's not - I know…." Her stammering protest is assurance enough for him. "I just need the extra time. All the professors are staying and I'll get to revise individually with them."

"You need to rest."

"I don't need - "

"You deserve a rest," he rephrases.

"You don't need to worry about me."

"I can't help it." His simply reply hints at so much more. It's getting close to that awful time of year when so much had happened. He knows his nightmares have returned, though he's not sure if that's because spring is drawing nearer or the work he does on the task force reminds him too much of that terrible stretch of days. She doesn't challenge him further.

"How's George?" She asks the question that always makes him smile.

"Good. The shop's good."

"And work?"

"Busy." He hates this stilted conversation but suddenly doesn't know how to proceed. He can't hide his disappointment. He still remembers how incredible Christmas holiday had been. The glimpse of the future it had offered, how free and careless they'd been.

He knows that means they should take advantage of these few precious hours they have together, but all he can think about is now it will mean two more months away from her. Two more months of conversations that are never finished and letters that can only say so much.

"I have to do this, Ron," she states finally after a long pause. He jokingly suggests that maybe he could stay at the castle for the holiday. He could bring her dinner and provide some much-needed study breaks. She smiles, but he can see it behind her eyes. Even this Hogsmeade weekend somehow seems less like a welcome respite and more like an interruption to her revision schedule this weekend.

"You have to take care of yourself." He hopes the words will remind her of the promises they made to each other last month.

"Stop telling me what to do!" she fires shrilly.

"You're unbelievable." He can't help but laugh and shake his head. "We're not going to see each other until - what - probably May now and this is how you want to spend our last hour together?"

"I'm sorry. Let me guess, you wanted to get a room at the Hog's Head."

He shakes his head and laughs to himself to keep from saying something he'll regret.

"I should go." He hates himself for saying it out loud as he places his hands on the table and sighs loudly.

"Maybe you should." She looks like she hates herself just as much for agreeing. He reaches in his wallet to pay for their tea without a word.

She lets him walk her to the gates of Hogwarts, but it's a silent and uncomfortable walk.

He makes up a million reasons to explain why this weekend has ended this way. It's the constant separations. It's the stress of her upcoming examinations. It's the frenetic pace of work, the lack of sleep, the distance.

"I'm sorry I have to stay," she says finally when they reach the iron gates.

"You don't have to stay and you know it," he mutters from behind clenched teeth.

He has a hard time believing his birthday was nineteen days ago.


End file.
